


𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇 𝐏𝐀𝐏𝐄𝐑|★

by raquelsss



Category: 20th Century CE RPF, Columbine - Fandom, Dylan Klebold - Fandom, Eric Harris - Fandom, Real Person Fiction, True Crime - Fandom
Genre: 1999, Columbine, Dylan Klebold - Freeform, Eric Harris - Freeform, F/M, High School, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:21:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 36,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27516001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raquelsss/pseuds/raquelsss
Summary: || 𝐀 𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐄 𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐄 𝐍𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐋 ||She was only supposed to document history, not rewrite it herself. And no one was less qualified than her to do it.This story contains mature themes and strong language. Viewer discretion is advised.
Relationships: Dylan Klebold/Original Female Character(s), Eric Harris/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 29





	1. 1. 𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧

**Author's Note:**

> disclaimer: This book contains mature themes and strong language. Viewer discretion is advised. Some names and identifying details have been changed. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. This book is not intended to be hateful or in support of the real-life events. The author does not and will never condone the actions of the real perpetrators.
> 
> copyright © 2020

𝑰 𝒉𝒂𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝒎𝒊𝒈𝒓𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒆, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕'𝒔 𝒘𝒉𝒚 𝑰 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒄𝒍𝒂𝒔𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑾𝒆𝒅𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒅𝒂𝒚 𝒂𝒇𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒏𝒐𝒐𝒏, 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑾𝒆𝒅𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒅𝒂𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒅 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈.

Usually, I never got migraines. And that's why I was so worried, and the reason I went to the nurse instead of showing up to my fourth period class, criminal psychology. You see, one of the perks of senior year is you have a wide variety of cool electives to choose from, not just your standard, required courses that underclassmen have to take. Criminal psych caught my attention immediately, and it was one of the hardest ones to get into because almost everyone wanted to take it.

I'd always been fascinated with the human mind, and the class itself usually attracted like-minded students, not to mention the teacher himself was super laid back. Mr. Tyler, or Mr. T as we called him, was simply the best.

The school nurse, however, was not as revered. There wasn't much she could do for my headache. She said it could have something to do with the winter weather, gave me an Advil and a Dixie cup of water, and sent me back to class with a late slip. Maybe I should've played it up more: fainting into one of the waiting room chairs or complaining of bells ringing in my ears. I wonder now that if I had been sent home that day, none of this ever would've happened.

When I arrived into the large, newly-furnished classroom, which looked more like a lecture hall, I wordlessly placed the late slip onto Mr. T's podium. He was tinkering with his laptop again, trying to pull up a PowerPoint for the projector, muttering under his breath how 'just because nobody uses this damn program anymore doesn't mean it should glitch.' 

The criminal psych room was unlike any other classroom in the school. It used to be the old band room, but that was moved to a new building after an alum donation, and the room was sufficiently renovated. It had sets of risers with panels and swivel chairs, a large whiteboard stretched out across the front wall, a pull-down projector, and a Smart Board. Quite the change of pace from the other old fashioned classrooms in the school.

"Smoking in the bathroom again, Dryden?" Mr. T asked me without looking up from his laptop. "I thought we talked about this." 

His amusement was evident in his voice though he pretended to look disappointed. Some kids who had been paying attention snickered, and I managed a weak smile despite in his direction. 

"Do you really think I'm dumb enough to smoke in the bathroom?" I replied, sliding into my usual chair in the middle of the risers. "Hypothetically, of course."

Mr. T shrugged, looking back down at his laptop. "You know in the late 90s, we had designated smoking areas. My school's was next to the art wing."

"What about the mid-90s designated cocaine areas?" Rebecca teased from her seat next to mine, tossing her dark hair over one shoulder. She gave me a pleasant smile. "Hi Liz. Do you have any snacks?"

"I've got a bag of half-eaten pretzels," I offered, fishing around for it in my backpack.

I'd only met Rebecca this year in first period. Her bubbly personality drew me in almost instantly. She played on the school's varsity girls' softball team with one of my best friends.

Rebecca looked hopeful about the pretzels for a moment, until I added, "But they're not gluten-free, sorry." 

She frowned. "I've been cursed." 

"Liz, I really dig that shirt," said Alyssa, a girl whom I'd also become familiar with that year. She was tall with dirty-blonde hair and was currently in a very committed relationship with some college freshman down in Louisiana. I only knew that last part because she brought him up almost every class period.

I looked down at my cheesy 90s Kid shirt that I'd gotten on sale at Forever21. "Thanks," I laughed, and then cringed from my headache. "Impulse buy."

"You know, technically, you're not a 90s kid. You're a 90s baby and an early to mid 2000s kid, which everyone in this class is, so get over yourself."

And that little comment belonged to none other than Tessa, the girl who sat to the right of me. For the life of me, I couldn't figure out why she sat there. I mean, she clearly didn't like me, and there were plenty of other seats in the gigantic classroom. She seemed perpetually annoyed with everyone, and the feeling was mutual. Even Mr. T couldn't hide it at times. Her attitude sucked, and she was always critiquing, criticizing, and correcting people on almost anything. She once threatened to fight Alyssa, to which Alyssa had risen to her full height and replied, "Bring it, half-pint." 

For such a bitchy person, Tessa looked non-threatening from the outside. She wore clothes that implied she made friendship pot-holders on weekends and wasn't allowed to drink soda. But she lost all filters when you got in her way.

I tried to be nice to her, and for the most part we were okay, until she tried to attack me or Rebecca or Alyssa for no reason. Then it was just sad. 

Ryan found it amusing. He was a nice enough kid, and he sat a few seats away from everyone else, isolated but not withdrawn. He was very much a part of the class with his quips and offerings of random snacks from his backpack. He was also a kid that Mr. T favored, mainly because I think Ryan reminded Mr. T so much of his teenage self. 

In the back-top row of the lecture hall were three boys who preferred to be quiet throughout most of the class. They primarily either slept through it or simply checked out. One of the boys, I think his name was Jason, carried his drumsticks around everywhere and would be banging on his desk before the start of class. Another kid in the back, J.P., spent the majority of the class playing with his skateboard. And Trey, actually quite popular, was usually flirty and talkative, but he'd quieted down recently.

For a moment last year, I thought he liked me, until I realized he went for every girl who looked his way.

"If I could bring everyone back, let's talk about the first project we'll be doing," Mr. T announced, finally pulling up the PowerPoint on the Smart Board. "It's due in two weeks on a Thursday, for those of you looking ahead on the calendar. Fair warning, it won't be over the textbook, so don't email me about that. I will not reply, but I will judge you for not paying attention. But seriously, if anyone still has their book on Charles Manson that you were supposed to have returned already, either at home or in their locker, I need it back as soon as you can. I only have so many copies for next year."

One of the two boys who sat in the front row chuckled. "Ah shit, I forgot mine again, Mr. T," the one in the polo, Jack, said with a smirk to his friend, Thomas.

"Well, Jack, I guess you're going to over-due book hell," Mr. T said with a dead-pan expression that revealed how over it he really was. He turned to the rest of the class. "Anyone else have it to turn in?"

A popular girl next to the boys pulled out her novel and tossed it to Mr. T.

"Alright, just know that I need these by the end of the week if you still have them or I will show up at your house this weekend to get it back. I don't want to, but I will do it," he said, raising her book above his head. He then tossed it in a cardboard box at the foot of his podium with the other returned books. 

"What are we doing today?" Rebecca asked him, spinning in her swivel chair. "Can we watch a movie?"

"Yeah, I wanna watch a movie," Jack called from the first row. He nudged his Nike shirt-wearing friend Thomas. "We can use my Netflix login." 

"No, we are not doing that today," Mr. T said, swinging his arms out wide and clapping as he walked to the board. "I need to tell you what the project is, which will take like fifteen seconds, and then you have the rest of time in class to begin working on it. Sound cool?"

"A movie would've been better..." Alyssa said. 

"So, I have made an assignment that is shared with all of you on google docs in a folder marked Mr. T's Senior Criminal Psych 4th period," Mr. T pointed to the folder on the Smart Board screen. "Click on it, and here is the assignment. You're going to research a real-life crime that interests you, and explain why you think the perpetrator did what they did and how could this have been prevented, utilizing what we've learned over the year. Also, you cannot choose any case studies we read about in the textbook. I want to see what you can do on your own."

The class seemed semi-interested. I for one loved watching tv shows about unsolved mysteries and building criminal profiles. It seemed like an easy, fun final so far. 

"You'll type it up, don't hand write please, five-paragraph essay, and then either print it out or share it with me on google drive," Mr. T scrolled through an example. "I made up an example of a case study here that you can read for reference. And rest assured I will know if you've plagiarized. Everybody cool?" 

The class murmured in response. 

"Rock on. You can team up in groups of no more than two, or you can work alone, your call, but please choose wisely."

I saw Rebecca and Alyssa team up out of the corner of my eye, and panicked when I noticed Tessa looking my way. That was not going to happen.

I quickly tried to make eye contact with Ryan, but before I could say anything to him, someone poked my back sharply. I turned to see a girl I didn't recognize in a dark hoodie leaning over the row of desks behind me, offering a knowing smirk. She gestured with her head for me to follow her up the risers to her place at the very back.

Assuming she wanted to partner up for the project, and happy this meant escaping Tessa, I grabbed my stuff and moved quickly.

I felt my stomach churn nervously. It sucked that I couldn't work on this project with Rebecca or Alyssa or even Ryan, and that I had to work on it with this random girl. Why did she even pick me? I assumed since she sat near the other three back-row dwellers, she would've chosen one of them. Who was she anyway? I had never noticed her before, which made me feel a little bad. Maybe she skipped class a lot, and that's why she wasn't familiar.

The girl looked over at me through long blonde hair and offered the same smirk. Something about her made me feel both on-edge and comfortable, like a girl with a gun to my head who also happened to be a best friend.

If anyone, Rebecca would know who this girl was. But that's just Rebecca, super friendly and nice to almost everyone. But I'd never once seen the two of the together.

She had a narrow nose with a small hoop ring, and hazy blue eyes, which looked like she was in her own world. I noticed her open notebook, filled with doodles and sketches in different colored pens. Her artwork was incredible. 

"Okay, you have the rest of the time to get started choosing a topic. Please tell me what you are doing before you leave," Mr. T said before walking over to the popular girl who had her hand raised. 

"So..." 

The voice startled me, making me realize that my headache had suddenly gone away. I felt a wave of relief wash over me. Those Advil pills worked fast. 

The girl had moved down a few chairs and was now sitting next to me with her cell phone and notebook and various pens. "Easy project, right?"

"Yeah," I smiled, feeling somewhat shy. "Do you have a preference as to what topic?"

She was scrolling through something on her phone when she turned my way. "Actually, yeah. I think it would be interesting to do something on the Columbine massacre."

I paused, not fazed, but not knowing anything about it. I usually stayed away from that area of true crime, as it seemed to hit a little too close to home. Those stories scared me more than creepy clowns or Bundy-level serial killers.

"I've never heard of it," I replied.

"Well, do you want to do it?"

When I didn't respond right away, she looked up from her texting and stared at me expectantly. 

"Oh, um, yeah okay," I stammered, trying to smile. "You seem like you already have something in mind?" I tried to laugh.

She wasn't laughing though. "Yeah, I sort of outlined the whole research project thing already. I hope that's okay."

"I mean, I don't want you to feel like you're doing all the work," I replied, spinning my phone on the table. I was always doing that subconsciously when I got nervous. 

"Oh, I won't," she smiled as Mr. T approached us. 

"So, what are we thinking?" He asked, leaning his arms on the desk and staring down at my blank notebook. "Got something yet?"

She looked at me, and I looked at Mr. T. "Uh...the Columbine massacre?" I replied hesitantly, almost in a whisper, as if saying the words aloud was sac-religious.

"Oh," Mr. T said after a beat, nodding. "Sure, that's....it'll be..." he trailed off, shooting me a reassuring half-smile. "Good luck."

"Thanks." 

Mr. T was quiet for a moment and then seemed to snap back to himself. "So, you are good to start researching. Feel free to print anything or use the computers on the laptop cart." 

For the rest of class, I got bits and pieces of the Columbine story from my partner. There were two teenagers, not just one, who shot up their high school, killing twelve students and one teacher, before killing themselves. 

"In the library, with most of their victims," she explained. "It was something like three hours before their bodies were removed." 

I sat back slowly, trying to take it all in without feeling too much. "Wow, you sure know a lot about it." 

I saw her look slightly cocky for a second, but she shrugged it off. "I guess I'm just really fascinated, like you," she said. "I'm not like a crazy, sick killer or anything." 

"No, I get it," I nodded, hoping she knew I didn't think of her like that. "I like watching true crime shows and stuff like that. It's morbidly interesting, I agree." 

"So we should meet up to work on this more," she said. "How about we meet up tomorrow? Give me your number, I'll text you."

Wordlessly but with a small smile, I put my number in the phone and handed it back to her as the bell rang. I grabbed my backpack and began walking away to meet up with Rebecca and Alyssa when I halted and turned back. "Oh, I'm Liz, by the way," I said, feeling stupid for not introducing myself earlier.

"I know," she said, her eyes locked on mine as the smirk returned. "I'm Vanessa."

I smiled back before heading out and finding Rebecca and Alyssa outside the classroom door. "I fucking hate research papers," Rebecca whined as soon as we were out in the hallway.

"We're barely two months into the semester," Alyssa rolled her eyes. "Get ready."

Ryan caught up with us, almost tripping over his wild shoelace. "I don't know how you can work together on it," he said to Alyssa and Rebecca. "Are you taking every other paragraph or something?"

I listened to them chatter back and forth, lost in my own thoughts, before I finally asked, "Does anyone know anything about Columbine? Like, the thing that took place?" 

The other three were quiet for a moment, considering it, before giving me blank looks and a chorus of not really's.

"I do know something about starving to death," Rebecca interjected, dragging us to the commons to get lunch.

The rest of us laughed at that as we turned toward the cafeteria. Getting in line for the trays of food, something on the wall caught my attention. I stared at it intently, my jaw tightening.

"Have you been bewitched?" Rebecca asked, turning back to look at me in confusion.

I pointed at a small print-out poster. "How long has that been there?" I asked, pointing to it. 

Rebecca followed my gaze and stared at it. "I'm, who cares? Come on, I want fries," she whined, pulling my arm. I let her drag me through the line to meet up with the rest of our friends, but I couldn't get the mini poster on the wall out of my mind.

It had largely printed pictures of flowers and their names in alphabet-like style starting with 'A is for Azalea', advertising for the garden club. One of the flowers was white and purple, and printed next to the flower in large font was 'C is for Columbine.' 

I'd never noticed that poster before. And for a name I'd never heard of, I had now encountered it twice in one day within the span of an hour.

If only I'd gone home that day for my migraine. I wouldn't have paired up with Vanessa. I would've researched a different topic and been safe.

Little did I know that in just a month, I'd wake up in a different world, a different decade, a different home, but with all too familiar people.


	2. 𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐝

A quick google search directed me to numerous youtube documentaries, detailing the grisly events of Columbine. I found myself particularly wiped out by a Zero Hour episode. Something about it gave me chills, bad chills. The ending scene of the shooters' bodies lying dead on the library floor made me feel sick. I replayed the documentary a second time. Then a third.

Evening turned to night without my noticing.

I sat huddled on my bed, laptop open, falling down a deeper and darker hole than the next. I watched interview after interview, combed through police reports, squinted are grainy home videos, struggled to read manifestos...everything.

It was all too much.

I didn't like the feeling it brought. A sadness, a deep, overwhelming sadness that took control without asking permission.

From there, I began locking myself in my room as soon as I got home, reading more and more about the case, as if it was happening in real time and if only I could uncover the right clues I could do something.

Fuck, I thought as I finished reading a painful journal entry of one of the boys. How can someone else's sorrows hurt my feelings?

Honestly, I was unsettled by how obsessed I was becoming. The case was always on my mind, when I was hanging out with friends or family, going for a drive, listening to a certain song.

My dreams had turned distorted and nightmarish, leaving me exhausted and drained. Had Vanessa felt this way when she first started researching the case? Did she eventually get over it?

I didn't mention it to her. Maybe I was just weak. I let my emotions get the better of me.

Still, I managed to hide this newfound melancholy and confusion from those around me. But maybe that was what made it worse, suffering in silence alone.

I couldn't tell anyone what was wrong, mainly because I didn't know what was wrong. It was as if I had someone else's thoughts and feelings overtaking my brain. I was drowning in grief and rage, something I'd never felt to that extent before.

The crying was frequent and unexpected. It mainly happened after I'd read an entry from the journals. I felt guilty for reading the private writings, as if I could feel the authors watching me. I heard their voices in the back of my mind. I was going insane, falling off into a void.

"So, what's your conclusion?" Vanessa asked me when we met up at a diner for breakfast on the third week of working on the paper. "What's their diagnoses?" She used air-quotes around the last part, shooting me a glance.

"Prognoses, more like," I sighed, having slept in a few days. My hair was a mess, and I had the darkest circles under my eyes. Where to fucking begin? "I don't really have theories yet," I said.

"Bullshit you don't," Vanessa threw her pen down onto the table. "Come on, top thoughts."

"Well, Dylan lost about 37 pounds before he died, which leads me to believe there was something potentially wrong with his mid-insula, hypoactivation, maybe," I said absently, flipping through the scribbled briefings in my notebook. "Comorbidity — major depression. I don't know, maybe moderate social anxiety, not enough D2 receptors, imaginary audience syndrome."

"Invisible what?" Vanessa asked with a cracked smile. "You just made that up." She are a hash brown off my plate. "What about Reb?"

"Who? Oh," I shook my head, flipping a few pages. "I don't know, he strikes me as a narcissistic nihilist. Liked chaos. There's anxiety there, and depression to some extent."

"You seem a little biased."

"How do you mean?"

"Well, you're treating one like a fallen angel and the other like a ticking time bomb. Tell me I'm wrong."

I poked at the cold waffle on my plate with a fork, watching the syrup prune the spongy batter. "You asked for my thoughts. I'm no authority."

Looking back at my notes, I realized how my handwriting looked more like a mental patient's than my own. "Dylan ingested a lot of nicotine for someone with anxiety."

Vanessa raised an eyebrow. "Your point?"

"It worsens the symptoms, contrary to popular belief," I mumbled, not looking up as more notes caught my eye. "Ironically, smoking may have helped with his depression. Why did Eric allow people to see his mask slip like that?"

"When?"

"When he'd explode at Judy Brown or at girls who'd reject him. If you're trying to maintain a charming persona to get by, you strive to keep it up and vent in private. Why have a meltdown so publicly where everyone can see?"

"But he did vent privately."

"He did both," I replied, clicking my pen. "I want to be in control of how others see me because I have such a negative view of myself, that I convince them, and myself, that I am perfect. But I can't control others and control myself all the time, and sometimes I can't control either one. And that enrages me to the point of total loss of restraint because now I am no longer perfect in their eyes. But I can sacrifice a few non-believers if the rest are willing to be controlled."

Vanessa sank back against the booth. "Holy shit. I have no idea what you just said."

I looked up at her, shrugging. "That's one theory, anyway." I tore out the piece of notebook paper and crumpled it up. "I don't know what Mr. T is expecting. I mean, the shooters are dead. You can't make a proper diagnosis."

A waitress came over to refill my water, a look of concern on her face. "Are you okay, dear?" She asked sweetly, a hand on her hip.

"Yeah," I replied, forcing a smile as I raked a hand through my matted hair. "I'm good, thank you."

She gave me a sideways glance but nodded and walked off. I buried my face in my hands again and groaned.

"Okay, you need a break," Vanessa said, sliding out of the booth. "Just go home and watch your favorite show. Paint your nails. Do some yoga. Take a shower," she smiled, grabbing my notebooks and handing them to me. "I'll work on the paper for a while. Don't worry about researching tonight. Try to get some sleep."

I nodded slowly, offering her a grateful look. "Thanks. I'm just not feeling well lately. I don't know how to describe it. I can't eat, I can't sleep—"

"Can't sleep?" She gave me a knowing glance. "Why didn't you tell me? Here," she pulled an orange pill bottle out of her purse and handed it to me. "These work like a god-send. You'll be knocked out in a matter of minutes, trust me. I used to take them all the time before bed. I have the worst insomnia. It's like I come to life at night."

I took the bottle, seeing the label had been torn off. "What is it?"

"It's fine," Vanessa laughed, playfully nudging me. "I'm not trying to poison you. They're just sleeping pills. Just take one at a time, though. Shit's powerful."

When I got home, I was hit with a barrage of questions from my parents. A few old friends had stopped by, wondering why I hadn't returned their texts, why I was ignoring them and withdrawing. My grades had slipped considerably. My room was a complete mess and I hadn't left my room except to go to school and meet up with Vanessa to work on the paper.

My mother was inconsolable. A psychiatrist herself, she was onto me from the beginning.

She confronted me about everything that day, and things got explosive. We were having a screaming match in my room, one that lasted almost an hour. My father was arguing with my mom, telling her to let me be.

But she wouldn't or couldn't listen. "I don't know what's gotten into you lately, but you need to get your shit together and talk to me because I care about you!" She yelled, tears falling down her cheeks.

There was a lot worse said, mainly from my side, and after she walked away to cool off, I slammed my bedroom door shut and locked it, immediately breaking down into tears.

I felt like I wanted to throw up from the overwhelming sense of despair. "Fuck, I get it now," I whispered to my empty room while I cried. "I feel your pain."

I didn't get anything. I understood nothing. Though it sure felt like I did.

I looked around at my printed pages of research and my scattered notebook pages on the Columbine massacre, strewn around my desk. I wiped at my tears. "What the fuck did you do to me?" I whispered, my voice shaking as the feeling of emptiness consumed me. "How dare you creep into my life. I didn't want this."

Still crying, I felt the room spin around me as my mind swam. I could hear my parents arguing about me in the kitchen. I wanted it to stop. I wanted it all to stop.

Clad in an oversized sweater and underwear, I grabbed the bottle of barbituate-like pills that Vanessa had given me. I climbed on my bed, surrounding myself with my stuffed animals, laying back in bed. I don't remember how many I took, but I felt my eyes closing as I fell asleep shortly afterwards. All I wanted was to fall asleep and finally have some peace.

There was nothing but darkness. I didn't have any dreams or nightmares. Just a deep sleep. For a moment, I thought I was dead.

All I saw was miles and miles of nothing. I wasn't breathing, but I was awake. Not dead, not alive. Somewhere in between.


	3. 𝐤𝐢𝐝𝐧𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝

'They Reminisce Over You' broke through the silence, jolting me from the haze of what felt like death. My eyes fluttered open with some difficulty. A sinking feeling bubbled in my stomach as I found myself in an unfamiliar bed with a heavy comforter draped over me. My migraine was back, and I tiredly put a hand to my head, groaning as I sat up.

Looking around, I almost had a heart attack. Where was I?

The nightstand by my bed had an old alarm clock radio on it — the source of the music. I hit a random button, turning off the radio. The time read 6:15. An ungodly hour.

This wasn't my bedroom. Panic swept through me. Had I been kidnapped in my sleep? Did I blackout and break into someone's house? Was this a dream?

Posters of all these bands, some I'd never heard of, covered the walls. I jumped as the shrill ring of a phone echoed throughout the house. Sitting on the nightstand was a landline. Do I answer it?

I opted out and slowly got up, throwing the covers back and swinging my legs over the side of the bed. I had to arm myself, scanning the room for anything I could grab to use on my hostages. Finally, I found a pair of scissors inside the desk drawer. I hid them in the pocket of my sweater. I pulled out the things that had previously been in the pocket: a mix CD in its case that my friends and I had made, a tampon, and, for whatever reason, a stick of gum I had forgotten about.

As I crept out, I found myself in the dark hallway of a very old-looking house. Wallpaper that looked like something from my grandmother's house covered the walls. The smell of waffles wafted up the stairs. I felt my stomach rumble.

I tip-toed down the carpeted stairs, the sunlight from the windows shining through. I practically gaped out the window. Snow. Why was there snow? It was supposed to be September.

Gripping the scissors in my pocket, I got to the last step. I was in a kitchen, watching a dark-haired woman in her pink bathrobe and slippers with her back to me, putting frozen waffles in a toaster. There was a boy sitting at the kitchen table. He was tall and hunched over as he read something on the back of a Kix cereal box.

Neither noticed me as I stepped into the kitchen doorway. My first instinct was to make a mad dash for the side door across from the kitchen table.

But before I could, the woman turned around and paused, giving me a smile. "Hey honey, how are you feeling?" She asked me, setting a plate on the table.

I was so taken aback that I moved backward into the wall, making sure to keep a safe distance. The boy looked up from his cereal box, raising an eyebrow at me.

A man came down the stairs behind me, fixing his tie and holding his shoes in his hands. "I'm going to head in early today," he said to the woman, giving her a kiss on the cheek. "I'll see you later," he said to both the boy and me, walking out the door.

I was so confused at how casual everyone was being. They were the coziest kidnappers ever. The woman walked past me and out of the kitchen to the next room, and I was left alone with the boy at the table.

"Um, can you please tell me what's going on?" I asked, my breathing increasing as my heart pounded. It was the pills. I took too many and now I was having a bad trip or something. Wait, can that even happen? Like medically? "Are they keeping you, too? Do you know how I got here?"

The boy turned, his brown hair still messy from sleep and his mouth full of cereal, the spoon still in his hand. He swallowed and gave me a teasing look. "What have you been smoking?" He replied, his eyes playful and still a little tired.

I froze, feeling my blood run cold. Holy shit. I knew that face, that teasing smile, those eyes, that nose... The tone of his joking voice was something I recognized. No, it couldn't be. "Tyler..." I said in barely a whisper. I shook my head to snap out of it and collected myself. I tried again, using his first name as I was so unfamiliar with using it. "Brad Tyler?"

The boy snickered and nodded. "Okay..." He put down the spoon and craned his neck toward the direction the woman disappeared to. "Mom, she's freaking me out," he called.

No. I was the one who was supposed to be freaked out. What the fuck was going on? Why was my criminal psych teacher, Mr. T, seventeen years old and having a conversation with me in a vintage-wallpaper-infested kitchen.

"But—" I stammered, moving against the wall toward where he sat. "You look so...young."

'Brad' gave me a weird look. "Young? Eighteen on April 19, as you know," he muttered, continuing to eat the cereal. He looked back at me, giving a teasing half smile. "Anyway, you're the one who looks like a child."

"No, no this is not happening," I murmured under my breath, clutching my head in confusion.

The woman came back in and planted a kiss on my head. I flinched. Who the fuck are you?

"You want a waffle? I just made a couple," she said, popping two waffles out of the toaster and putting them on a plate.

"No, I don't want a waffle! Who are you people? Where did you come from?" I asked, recognizing my teacher but not fully understanding why I was seeing a grunge version of him eating Kix cereal while his mom kissed me on the side of my head. "Where are my parents?" I asked, worry evident in my shaky voice.

"Don't you remember?" The woman asked, giving me a concerned look.

"Remember? Remember what?" I replied. I was scared, my blood pulsing and my forehead sweating. The woman and Brad exchanged a confused glance and then turned to me. "What?"

"You're parents want you to stay with us for a few months, honey," the woman said, walking over to me.

I kept backing up. "What? My parents didn't kick me out. All I did was..." I paused. I couldn't say I'd taken a few pills. That wouldn't go over well.

"Sweetheart, sit down," the woman said, pulling out a chair across from Brad. "Let's talk."

I hesitated. This didn't seem like a kidnapping. I didn't feel like my life was in immediate danger...not yet. So I cautiously and reluctantly approached the chair, sitting down in it, making sure there were no ropes to tie me down.

"Okay," the woman said, sitting beside me and rubbing small circles on my back. It was meant to be comforting, I guess, but I only felt more nervous. "Let's start slowly," she gently felt my forehead with the back of her cool hand. I caught a whiff of her perfume, a scent of vanilla and lilies. "This is my son, Brad," she said, nodding to my teacher who was still shoveling cereal into his mouth. "And I'm Mel, a good friend of your mom."

My blank expression prompted her to go on.

"I was the maid of honor at your mom's wedding, I bought you a Malibu barbie for your sixth birthday, I used to babysit you when you were just itty-bitty..." she trailed off, searching my face for recognition. "Does any of this even ring the tiniest of bells?"

I scrunched up my eyebrows, and they must've noticed my distress because I felt Mel's hand move to my shoulders to squeeze them.

"I'm still Liz Dryden, right?" I asked shakily.

"You might also be crazy," Brad replied under his breath, and Mel shot him a look.

"Yes, you are still the same Liz Dryden we love," Mel turned to me, her tone becoming somber and gentle. "The same sweet little girl."

I started to get worried. "What happened?" I asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.

Mel and Brad exchanged another look. "Lizzie, honey..." Only my mom called me Lizzie. "Your parents thought it would be good for you to spend some time here with us. Especially after the last incident."

"What?" I whispered. "No they didn't. And what incident?"

"Honey, you don't remember being expelled from your old school?" Mel asked and shook her head. "You've only been here with us for the weekend. You haven't left your room since last Friday."

"Technically, it's my old room," Brad interjected.

I was speechless. Brad had stopped chomping on the bland-looking flakes and gave me a look. "Can you please tell me again why..." I stopped myself. "No," I said, shaking my head and standing up. "No, you don't have to. I'm dreaming. This is a nightmare, and I need to wake up."

"This isn't a dream, Lizzie," Mel said softly, looking up at me. "You're awake. And this is real."

"No, you're wrong," I protested, feeling frustrated tears build up behind my eyes. "You should know that my parents didn't send me off to live with you people, and I want to go home."

"Uh, I'm not about to drive you all the way home," Brad laughed incredulously, crinkling his eyebrows.

"Fine, then is there a taxi I can call? Uber? I'll pay for it," I repeated, becoming more agitated. Then I realized I didn't have any money on me. Shit.

Mel gave me a strange look. "Lizzie, you live a full day's drive away. We can't just drop everything and take you home."

I was in a different state?

"No-" I stopped myself. It was useless to say 'no'. Maybe I stepped into some alternate reality or a parallel universe or another dimension. But there was zero possibility of that ever happening. At least, as far as I knew.

Calmly, I switched tactics.

I drew out a deep breath. If I was going to get home, I had to lay low and go along with whatever this was. It would be easier to diverge a plan. "Um...you know what? Everything's coming back to me," I lied, nodding my head. "Wow, I guess I really scared you guys. I'm sorry about all..." I waved my hands around, "that."

"No need to be sorry, love," Mel smiled at me. "You're healthy, you're safe, and it's a beautiful winter day. That's all that matters."

This brought me to another question that I hadn't deemed too important but after I had asked it, I knew it was a big one. "Hey, what is today, by the way? I feel like I've stepped into another world..." I tried to joke, laughing uncomfortably, then coughing as I tried to prevent hyperventilation. "I can't even breathe."

"That's probably the altitude," Brad offered from the table. "Don't worry, that goes away."

Mel chuckled. "It's Monday, January 11, to be exact."

"Yeah, okay," I nodded, still breathing heavily. "But like...what's the, you know...the year?"

The two gave me a funny look this time.

"1999, you weirdo," Brad said flatly. "One more year until we have hover-boards," he added.

"Right," I breathed, feeling faint. I turned to Mel. "Uh, I think I'll take those waffles now, please."

"Sure," she said, standing up to get the plate off the counter.

I sank back in the chair.

"Here you go, honey, eat up." She set the plate down in front of me, pushing the syrup and butter and a fork my way. "You must be starving. You didn't eat much this weekend."

I stabbed a piece of waffle with the fork.

"Kids, you should probably go get dressed for school now," Mel said to her us as she began for the stairs.

"School?" I asked out of nowhere. If I went to school, I could somehow slip away without them knowing and run to the nearest police station so I could be reunited with my family.

"Yes," Mel said firmly. "Your folks transferred you to Brad's school, since you're staying here for the year."

"Yeah, no, I knew that, I just forgot," I answered, trying to smile as Mel walked upstairs.

"The fuck did I do at my old school?" I whispered to Brad.

He shook his head in disapproval, raising his eyebrows. "You snorted coke and had sex with your principal in the office during a school assembly."

I gaped. "Really, I did?"

"No, dipshit. You were caught smoking in the bathroom and set off the fire alarm. After that, your parents found your weed stash or something and shipped you to the mountains for rehab. I don't really know all the details."

I blinked. Smoking in the bathroom again, Dryden?

"Rehab?"

"I mean, not really. More like we're supposed to keep you out of trouble," Brad corrected. "Perfect place for that. Nothing ever happens in Littleton."

"Littleton?" I stuttered.

"You always repeat things like that?" he asked slowly, giving me a weird look.

"It's just, I mean, well..." I fumbled, looking for the right way to say it. "Columbine is in Littleton."

Brad looked annoyed. "Very good."

"The high school."

He rolled his eyes. "My high school. And yours, too, now...I guess."

"No shit," I said, my fake smile widening even more as I died a little inside. "Unreal."

"Okay, well, I'm gonna go get changed. And I'll meet you back down here in 10. That cool?"

10? I had 10 minutes to get ready? I needed at least an hour to cry about this whole situation.

No it wasn't cool. "That's cool," I smiled.

"At least put on pants," he mumbled, brushing past me.

I froze, looking down and realizing I was only in my oversized sweater and underwear. "Oh my god," I shrieked, running up the stairs.

My movements felt zombie-like. This wasn't happening. I wasn't about to go to Columbine in 1999.

They were crazy. Or I was crazy. Someone had to be crazy. But I decided it was best to make a decision with clothes on.

I threw on a pair of jeans that I found in my closet. Then I pulled on a plain black long-sleeve. Yeah, who was I trying to impress.

My hair was a complete mess. So was my face. I had bags under my eyes, and I looked like I just rolled out of the garbage.

I shook my head at the disappointment that was my reflection and left the room, grabbing the backpack by the door that I assumed was mine. I already had a few books and notebooks in there. Did they pick classes for me? It was second semester if it was January. I assumed the end of winter break.

When I came back down the stairs to meet Brad, I froze. There he was, waiting for me by the door, dressed in a blue polo shirt with khaki pants and white sneakers, topped off with a white baseball cap.

"Oh," I said, shuffling my feet toward him. "That's unfortunate."

"What?"

"What? Nothing." I shook my head. "Let's go."

"Are you sure you don't wanna wear, like, something else?" He asked. This time it was I who gave him the weird look. "I'm just saying," he quickly added, "you look okay I think, but the kids at school can be kind of..."

I rubbed my eyes tiredly. "Dude, I'm in jeans and a long-sleeve. I think they'll forgive me."

"I just mean your hair...and maybe take off your old mascara, you look like a dollar store Fiona Apple—"

"Brad, I'm one more 90s reference away from a nervous breakdown, so if you could just keep the comments to yourself, I can maybe pretend for a minute that I'm not really here and this isn't really happening, okay?"

Brad looked a bit frightened. He pulled out his keys and held the door open for me. "Yeah, we should go, you look fine."

As we drove to the school, I felt anxious and sick. This wasn't real, I kept telling myself. I was going to wake up soon.

But I didn't.

And at some point, when we pulled up to the school and Brad parked the car, I knew I was way out of my league here.


	4. 𝗳𝗶𝗿𝘀𝘁 𝗱𝗮𝘆

"Come on, I'll go with you to get your schedule," Brad said, slamming his door closed. I still sat in the passenger seat of his '89 black Honda Accord, staring at the kids in the parking lot as they got out of their cars and met up with their friends, laughing and exchanging greetings. This was real. I couldn't breathe, and I felt like my heart was about to beat right out of my chest. "Liz?" 

I jumped a little bit, startling myself back to the impossible. "Yeah, yeah I'm coming," I said quickly, grabbing my backpack and coat. I followed him toward the school's front entrance, watching as he was greeted and high-fived by multiple students, mainly those wearing similar white baseball caps and a few girls with them. 

"Okay, I'm frozen," I mumbled, burying my nose down into my coat.

"Yo man, what's up?" A guy with a packet of fun-dip in his hand asked, stepping out of his car and exchanging some kind of 'bro' handshake with Brad. Fun-dip in the morning made my stomach churn, but to this guy I'm sure it was the breakfast of champions. 

"Hey, not much dawg, how you been?" Brad asked, slamming him on the back. "You ready for Ashley's party tonight? It's gonna be bangin'. You know people will be blazed."

"Damn skippy," the other guy replied, high-fiving Brad. 

"What is happening," I muttered in confusion to myself. I mentally started screaming. There were entirely too many 90s phrases in that exchange. 

A girl in a cheerleading uniform and a light jacket slinked her arm around Brad's waist. "I heard my name," she smirked. I gaped at her bare legs, wondering how she wasn't frozen solid or dead from the below zero temperature. Did she see the snow this morning?

"Party's still on, right?" Fun-Dip asked her with a wink. The cheerleader, who I assumed was Ashley, gave a playful eye roll. "Duh," she said, elbowing the guy in the ribs lightly. "But no going postal tonight, okay? Last time, two glass vases and a lamp broke." 

"You got it," the guy said, rubbing his ribs. 

Just when I was hoping to remain invisible, Brad threw me into the spotlight. "Hey, this is Liz," he said, gesturing his arm out for me to step forward, which I did awkwardly. "She's the family friend I was telling you about."

"Hey," I said, giving a slight wave. "I'm the family friend, apparently," I said, nodding my head, putting on a false smile. God, I sucked at fitting in, even in the 90s. "Super rad, am I right?" I tried, knowing very little about the slang of the decade, even though it wasn't that old. Okay maybe I was trying to hard.

They stared at me. My face felt hot. Wow, I blew it. It was my first day, I hadn't even had a full conversation with anyone, and I already looked like a complete loser.

"Yeah," Brad trailed off, giving me a weird look. "Anyway, is it cool if she tags along?" 

Oh great.

"No that's okay," I said quickly, trying to laugh it off. "I mean, I'll probably have a lot of work to catch up on with my classes anyway, so...I'm just gonna sit this one out." 

Brad raised his eyebrows. "It's the first day back."

"Never too early to hit the books," I shrugged.

"You can totally come if you want," Ashley said, surprising me. She offered me a faux smile. "As long as you're coming," she looked at Brad. 

Brad smiled back.

Okay, and now I got why she was inviting me. She was into Brad, my criminal psych teacher. Cute.

"So, you want to come?" Ashley asked me.

"It would be the honor of my life," I said, my smile matching hers. "Thanks." 

"Alright, see you guys later," Brad said, repeating the handshake with Fun-Dip. "We gotta bounce." 

As Brad led me through the doors, I was overwhelmed with kids moving in all directions dressed as the entire store of Abercrombie and Fitch. I felt particularly less pretty when I walked by three done-up girls standing at their lockers in their low-rise jeans and tight shirts. I smiled a little at the dated look of it all. In my head I was making fun of them, but I knew I was in their world now, and here they could judge me as much as I could judge them.

When I got my schedule, I flipped out when I realized that Brad wasn't in a single class with me. "What am I supposed to do? Make friends?" I practically cried as Brad took out his books from his locker.

"Yeah, pretty much," Brad said dumbly, and then turned to me with a serious expression. "Hey, it'll be easy." He scanned the hallways and pointed to a girl with an expensive-looking purse and kitten heels. "Like Stella. Stella's great," he said, just as she shoulder-bumped another girl before calling her a 'fat skank.' "Okay, bad example," Brad said with wide eyes. "But I'm sure you'll be fine. You've got the whole..." he gestured to my outfit, "...angsty thing going on, and you're not that ugly, and you were seen hanging with me so you've got that going for you. At least my friends will leave you alone."

"Wow, you're an asshole," I folded my arms. That felt weird, calling my teacher an asshole. But I was so annoyed I couldn't help it.

"I'm sorry, okay?" Brad said, closing his locker door. "I'd walk you to your first class, but I can't be late again. That means a detention, and Mom will flip her shit, and then I can't go to the party tonight and neither can you." 

"Wouldn't want that," I said with a weak smile. 

Brad gave me a light punch to the shoulder. "Lucky for you, I have a lot of friends, so I'm sure we'll find you someone in your first hour. What is it again? History?" 

"Yeah," I said, looking over my crinkled schedule. "With Mrs. Rice." 

"Ummmm," Brad said, looking around up and down the crowded hallways. "Oh, hang on," he said, moving toward a brunette in the crowd walking with a few other girls. "Hey, Rachel! Come here for a sec." 

When the girl came over to us, smiling sweetly, I tried hard not to have a breakdown. 

Brad began to introduce me to her, but I already knew who she was. "Liz, this is Rachel. She's going to take you to your first hour. You guys are in the same class. Maybe you can sit together, yay," Brad said with no enthusiasm. "Later." He threw me a peace sign and walked into the crowd to meet up with his friends in similar hats. 

Great. Just great. It was bad enough that he left me to fend for myself in a totally different school in an entirely different decade, but now I had to look Rachel Scott in the eye and try to avoid another wave of despair that would inevitably hit me.

I had a sudden urge to tell her not to come to school on April 20, 1999, but I stopped myself. Could I do that? Would that...affect anything? I mean, would she believe me? Then I thought about bigger possibilities. Why tell her not to come to school on that day when I could prevent the whole thing from even happening? But wouldn't that change the future even more? But wasn't that a good thing?

Before I could think any more about this, Rachel gently grabbed my arm. "Come on, I'll save you from the carnage," she joked, gesturing to the rush hour in the hallway. I gave her the most uneasy look. "So, you're Brad's friend?" 

"Yeah," I answered, walking with her through the throngs of students. "I'm staying with his family for a while. My mom and his mom are close." I guess.

"So..." I sighed, trying to make conversation. I just couldn't believe it. I had researched her. I had seen countless pictures of her. She had a Wikipedia page. What was she doing standing next to me? "How do you know Brad?" 

Rachel gave a sheepish smile. "Oh, he's in my fifth hour, and he knows my brother, Craig. He's a nice guy," she said, and I could sense the familiar tone in her voice. It was the same tone I used with my friends whenever they brought up a guy who I thought was cute but tried to brush it off.

I was never one to play matchmaker, but in this case, I felt like I couldn't help it. Rachel seemed like such a sweet girl from what I'd read about her, and now, talking to her in person, I felt a lot of sympathy for her crush on my psych teacher, er, family friend.

"He seems to really think highly of you," I said casually. "I mean, he wouldn't let me go off with just anyone. Before he called you over, he was about to take me to class himself because he didn't trust anyone else," I lied, and she blushed. "He doesn't give that responsibility to anyone. I mean, I'm a handful."

Rachel giggled and shrugged. "Nah, we're just friends," she said, a twinge of regret in her voice. "Besides, I think he likes Ashley Hill anyway."

Ashley. She must've been the 'Ashley' cheerleader who was having the party. "No, I don't think so," I shook my head. "She's boring and probably has no life."

"She does ballet," Rachel added. "I heard she got offered a spot with a professional dance company." 

"Well, what do you like that Brad also likes?" I asked as she led us down a less crowded hallway. This school was freaking huge. "I doubt he likes ballet."

"I don't know," Rachel admitted, scratching her arm. "He likes skateboarding, but if I tried that, I'd break everything," she laughed.

I smiled. "You and me both. What else?" 

Rachel thought for a minute. "I like singing. Anywhere. School plays, church choir, concerts, my shower," she laughed again. "Music really makes me feel my happiest, I guess." 

I gave her a friendly nudge. "Okay, that's it! Just talk to him about music. I'm sure you'll find an artist you both like," I said happily. "Oh, are you coming to Ashley's party tonight?" I silently prayed to whatever god that Rachel had been invited to avoid the awkwardness. Maybe I could bring a friend? 

"Yeah, I just got invited this morning actually," Rachel said, stopping in front of a classroom door which I assumed was our history class. 

"Great, okay so you'll see Brad tonight," I said, snapping my fingers. "I'll be there so I'll help you." 

Rachel gave me a genuine smile. "Thanks Liz, but it's Ashley's party. Don't you think she'll be all over him?" 

I gave her a knowing grin as I opened the door to our classroom. "I wouldn't worry about that. The ballerina hardly ever gets the skater boy," I said, holding the door for her. "At least they don't in Avril Lavigne songs," I muttered hopefully under my breath.


	5. 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬

After first period, I was alone again. Rachel headed off to another class at the opposite end of the school, leaving me to wander the halls until I found the rest of my classes. As I got to fourth period, I felt more and more isolated. It reminded me of my freshman year. I hadn't known a single person, but within a few weeks, I'd met my best friends. I doubted it would go down the same path here. And I didn't want it to. I wasn't here to stay, at least not permanently, I hoped.

I wasn't even sure how long I'd be here for, wherever 'here' was. I had to figure out a way to get back home. There was no way I wanted to stick around here longer than I had to. As much as I had become fascinated with the event itself during my research, I had no intention of becoming a willing participant.

Lunch was coming up, and I felt anything but hungry. Even though I was trapped in a past decade, I still felt nervous about the hell that was lunch time on anyone's first day of school. Who was I going to sit with? I knew I shouldn't care that much, especially considering the circumstances. Clearly, I had bigger problems. But I couldn't help the sinking feeling in my stomach as the bell rang for 'A' lunch. I hoped I would be able to find Brad or better yet Rachel somewhere in the cafeteria.

My anxiety increased as I was elbowed and shoved in the crowded hallways leading downstairs to the commons. Kids were meeting up with their friends, claiming tables, setting their backpacks on empty seats next to them. I saw a bunch of guys in white baseball caps swarm the commons, and I craned my neck to see if Brad was among them, but they all looked the same. I couldn't see Rachel either.

Then I got an idea. Brad and I were seniors, so maybe he went out to his car to go off campus for lunch. I made a bee-line for the parking lot, shoving my way through the crowds. One of the weirder things that struck me was that the air smelled different in the 90's. I didn't know why, but the smell was just. . . off. It was like going up to your attic, minus the humidity, and taking a deep breath.

Brad was gone and so was his Honda. "Wow," I said to myself, rolling my eyes and hugging my arms tightly around my shoulders against the cold. "What a guy," I muttered, beginning to walk back toward the school. Plan B: hide in the bathroom until lunch was over.

As I moved toward the entrance, a cloud of cigarette smoke blew in front of my face, making me cough and cringe.

"Sorry about that," a deep voice murmured to my left. I turned toward the direction of the voice to find a guy leaning against the outside wall, a cigarette dangling from his fingers. He had on a jacket and jeans, but no white baseball cap as I had become accustomed to seeing on guys at the school.

"No worries," I said in a quiet voice, staring almost in shock at the guy. I recognized his voice, but upon seeing his face I knew who he was. He didn't seem to notice and took another drag. "It's Brooks, right?" I asked, feeling like a stalker after I said it.

Brooks Brown looked up, giving me a confused look. "Yeah, have we met or something?"

I had to come up with a quick lie. "No, my friend, Brad Tyler...he knows you, I think. I don't know."

Brooks nodded a little. "You're Brad's friend?"

"...Yeah. Our families are close."

"Oh," Brooks put out his cigarette and tossed it unceremoniously to the ground. "Are you new?"

"You could say that," I said, gripping the strap of my backpack tighter. "I'm Liz," I said, offering my hand. Thankfully, he took it and gave me a small smile.

"Liz," He repeated, nodding. "That would be short for Elizabeth?"

"Actually, it's Eloise," I replied, feeling my face flush a bit. "You know, after the little blonde, bright and happy girl who lived at the Plaza," I explained, looking up at Brooks who gave me a sideways look. "Yeah, my mom is a sucker for irony."

"I'll just stick with Liz, then," he smiled, picking up his backpack that was on the ground next to him. "This is a big school. I know it can get confusing, so if you need any help--"

"I was actually wondering where this room was?" I asked, pointing to my class on the schedule that I held up for him to see.

"Tech theater?" He asked, looking at the schedule. "Yeah, it's down the hall if you go in this way," he said, pointing to the doors. "On the right, it's the door labeled 'auditorium.' You can't miss it." 

"Thanks," I nodded, crinkling the schedule back up and stuffing it in my bag.

"You into that?" He asked.

"What?"

Brooks shrugged. "You know, like working on the lighting and stuff for the plays."

I wasn't even sure how any of that worked, but I had to make it seem like it. "Oh yeah, totally. Really gives me something to do." I cringed. That sounded horrible.

Brooks seemed to buy it, however. "Hey, cool," he said, beginning to walk toward the doors, waving his arm for me to follow. "I've got some friends who do that sort of thing. I can introduce you to them, if you want. I think one of them has that class."

I felt my head spin as I began to piece together whom he might be talking about. "Sure," I said hesitantly with less enthusiasm.

"What?" He smirked, looking down at me.

"Nothing," I said quickly, shaking my head. "I'm just...excited to finally know someone."

He nodded understandingly and took me down the hallway going back into the commons. "They should still be here," he said, looking around for someone in particular it seemed. "Over there," he said finally, gesturing for me to come with him. I followed him through the crowded lunch tables. When we got to a table toward the back of the cafeteria, I wanted to faint. Holy shit. This wasn't happening.

That was not they.

All the images of the documentaries I'd watched, the video clips I'd seen, the journal entries, the interviews, everything came flooding through my brain at once.

"Oh my gawd, Nate, I don't want to be in another one of your stupid videos," Eric Harris groaned, shoving the 90's-looking video camera out of his face as the boy who was holding it laughed.

"Come on, it's for the people, it's fun," Nate Dykeman protested, laughing too hard to care.

"Yeah, it was fun for, like, two seconds," Eric growled, rolling his eyes. "Dylan, back me up on this one. It's annoying, right?"

Dylan Klebold held up his hands. "Leave me out of this."

"What do you mean?" Eric asked, his voice rising. "He's been filming you, too."

"Guys," Brooks interrupted, standing out of the way so I was visible. I didn't know if I wanted to scream or vomit or cry. "Which one of you has tech next hour?"

The three guys at the table looked from Brooks to me, and I never felt more like a deer in the headlights.

"That's me," Dylan said, his voice quieter than it had been a second ago.

"Sweet, okay, so Dylan can take you down there," Brooks said to me, smiling like he had just solved everything. He pointed to where Dylan sat. "That's Dylan, the tall guy in the hat."

I vaguely nodded, my face still frozen.

"Guys, this is Liz," Brooks announced to the table. They stared at me, and I stared back.

Nate gave me a friendly smile, eagerly shaking my hand. "Hey Liz, I'm Nate. You are beautiful."

I was too in shock to hear him or react.

"Hey, Nate, how's Kristi doing?" Brooks reminded him, shooting him a 'what the fuck' look.

"I'm Eric," Eric continued, offering a light smile.

"You wanna sit down with us?" Brooks asked, pulling out a chair next to Nate and sitting down in it.

I was still frozen. Why couldn't I move? Oh my god, do something. Say something. Anything.

"I..." I began, stumbling through my thoughts. "...need...water." I said, forcing an awkward smile and then gesturing toward the hallway where I'd seen a drinking fountain. "I'll be back."

A chorus of confused "Okay"s followed.

I turned away and began speed-walking toward the hallway. What happened back there? I blacked out. Incredible. They probably thought I was disturbed.

I took a drink of water from the fountain, cringing at the mysterious taste.

Even the water tasted different in the 90's. Or was that just Colorado?


	6. 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟗𝟎𝐬

When I got back to the lunch table, Brooks was gone, and so were Eric and Nate. Dylan was standing by the table, shifting books around in his bag. I took a deep breath. It's just Dylan Klebold, holding his backpack and not a TEC-9. I could do this.

And then I wondered why he was still standing there until I remembered that Brooks had asked him to walk me to technical theater. I was surprised he waited. I'd been so weird, and I wouldn't have held it against him if he had just left with his friends. But there he was, waiting for me.

When I reached him, I was not expecting how tall he'd be. I wasn't super tall myself, so I felt a little intimidated as he towered over me. His light-wash denim jeans seemed to go on forever as did his AOL shirt, given his long legs and torso. He had on his usual black boots and backwards Boston Red Sox cap.

He met my eyes before I could say anything. "So, um..."

"...the class," I finished, trying to process that he was there, alive, standing in front of me. "Can you show me?"

"Yeah," he nodded, ducking his head, and starting down the halls. Kids seemed to get out of his way, and that was due to his height, which was impressive. He wasn't going to talk, I knew that. From what I'd gauged, he was shy around people he didn't know, especially girls.

"This school is huge," I said finally, trying to break the awkward silence that was plaguing our walk down the hall.

He just gave a slight nod in response, keeping his shoulders hunched and his head low.

When we got to the theater, Dylan disappeared into a room used for sound control during productions, and I was left by myself again.

Hours later, I met Brad back at the car and gave him a cold look. "Thanks for ditching me at lunch," I growled unpleasantly, sliding into the passenger seat, and slamming the door shut.

Brad turned the keys in the ignition and backed up. "I didn't know we had the same lunch hour," he said plainly.

I decided not to be mad at him. I had bigger things on my mind, like how I was going to get back home, if I could.

"So... how was your day?" Brad asked out of nowhere, turning down the radio.

I shrugged, staring out the window. "Good," I answered in a monotone voice.

Brad pulled into the driveway of his house. "You make any friends?"

"No."

Brad parked the car. "What time is this party?" I asked him as we walked in.

"Oh, Ashley's?"

I nodded. What other party was he going to tonight?

"Seven, I think," He answered, bounding up the stairs to his room.

I groaned. I wasn't in the mood to go to a party. I didn't want to try. All I wanted to do was curl up in bed and cry because fuck Columbine, fuck the 90s, and fuck me.

But before I could, a weird, shrill ringing came from my backpack. I frowned and set it down on the kitchen table, fishing my hand around inside it for the source of the noise. Finally, I pulled out a black Nokia 7110. What was that doing in my bag?

Reluctantly, I answered it.

"Hello?"

"Liz?"

"Yeah..."

"Hey, it's Rachel, from first period."

"Oh," I grabbed my bag in one hand and hurried upstairs to the room I assumed was mine, I'd woken up in it anyway. I closed the door and sank down on the bed. "Hey, Rachel. What's up?"

"Um, I was wondering what you're wearing tonight to the party? I've never been to one of Ashley's before, so I wasn't sure."

I rolled over on my stomach. "That makes two of us," I said, and then frowned. "Hey, how did you get this number by the way?"

"Oh, Brad gave it to me," she said quietly, and I could practically hear her blushing on the other line. "I talked to him in class today."

I smiled. "This is going to sound weird, but could you tell me the number? I think there's something wrong with my phone, and I'm just checking to make sure I don't have my own number wrong," I lied.

She gave it to me, and I wrote it down on a nearby piece of paper.

"Thanks," I said. I moved away from the bed and looked out my window. "So, tonight... I'll probably be casual. Maybe jeans and a flannel."

Rachel sounded disappointed. "Aw, but I was hoping you'd dress up a little so I wouldn't be the only one."

I laughed a little. "How fancy are you thinking?"

"A new dress I just got," she said, and then the sound of a crinkled shopping bags could be heard on the other line, "and a nice pair of shoes."

"Wear it, sounds cute," I said, inspecting the clothes in my closet while holding the phone against my ear and shoulder. Wow turns out me from the 90s had a similar fashion style to me from the future. What are the odds?

"You don't think it's too much?" Rachel asked.

I wanted her to text me a picture of the drip in question. But that wasn't a thing yet, or at least, not what I was used to. "No, it's fine," I said, laying out an outfit for myself. "What does the dress look like?"

"It's a white baby doll dress," Rachel explained, and I could hear more shuffling and rummaging in the background. "And I have some white platforms, but I don't know if I should do a necklace or a bracelet or both."

"A necklace," I responded.

"I think I have a flowery one," she mumbled, seemingly having set the phone down while she looked through something. "Hair?"

"Mm," I thought for a minute. "I don't know. I suck at hair."

Rachel laughed. "Clip it to be side maybe? I'll figure it out," she said. "How was your first day?"

I sighed to myself, flopping back down on my bed. "Long."

"I'm sorry," Rachel replied after a moment. "It'll get better."

"Yeah, I'm sure," I murmured, staring at the posters around my room. A Kiss poster, really? Who put them up there? Not that I didn't enjoy a little "Shout It Out Loud," but in the end it was still Kiss.

"How was lunch? I know that can be scary when you don't know anyone," she said.

I paused. Do I tell her about who I met, or lay low about it for a while? I opted for the latter. "Actually, I got through it. Wasn't too bad. I had 'A Lunch'."

"I have B," she said, sadness in her voice. "I felt so bad about it, too. You could've totally sat with me and my friends."

"It's whatever," I sighed, closing my eyes, feeling exhausted from the day's excitement. "But thanks, Rachel. You've been nice to me. You have no idea how hard this has been." And I genuinely meant this. I was afraid, trapped in a different place, a different world. I needed a friend.

"You're welcome, Liz," she said, and I could hear her smile again. Then I heard a woman speak in the background and Rachel's muffled voice as she replied. "Hey, I've got to go. My mom and I are running to the grocery store. I'll see you tonight, okay?"

"Okay," I said, sitting up. "See ya."

I clicked the phone off and sat there for a minute, glancing at the digital alarm clock on the nightstand. Three more hours until the party. I groaned, walking to the closet, and throwing more options onto the bed.

I pulled on a stretchy crop tank. I suddenly missed my comfortable, baggy t-shirts and wished I didn't have to go to this tonight. But I promised Rachel, and I wasn't about to let her down.

I draped on the dark green flannel and shimmied my hips into the denim jean skirt. Did I look cute or slutty?   
Whatever.

None of tonight mattered anyway. I found a pair of slip-on sneakers in the closet and pulled them on. I looked around for some accessories.

I didn't need a purse, did I? It was just a house party. I ran my fingers over the black mini backpack.

I had a mini panic attack when I couldn't find my iPhone. Then I remembered. It didn't exist.

I frowned as I studied my messy hair in the mirror. It reached just a few inches above my belly button, usually wild and unkempt. I ran a comb through it, and then tried pushing it back with butterfly clips and bobby-pins, but nothing looked good.

Makeup would be a bit easier, even though I kind of sucked at that too. I hadn't mastered the perfect look yet, but I had mastered 'my' look. Just as I was about to contour a bit, I stopped myself. This was the 90s. The Kylie Jenner look was not a thing. And I couldn't make it a thing.

I tried to remember what 90s teenage celebrities looked like. Okay, no crazy-bold eyeshadow, no dramatically winged eyeliner, no thick eyebrows, no dewy-skin, and no intense blush. This had to be played down.

Foundation was matte. No bronzer or shimmer. Blush was minimal. Eyeshadow was neutral, and eyeliner and mascara were brown and smudged for the grungy effect. Eyebrows were thin, and lips were dark and glossed.

Sort of satisfied with the finished product, I slunk down the stairs to wait for Brad, backpack in hand.

He came down, running his fingers through his spiked hair. He had layered a white t-shirt over a green long-sleeve under a varsity football letterman jacket. His ripped jeans and converse made the look a bit edgier. "Are you ready?" He asked.

I shrugged. "Sure," I said, following him to the car. I felt out of place, going to a party with mainly jocks and popular girls who all new each other. It would be weird, but only if I made it weird. I decided to try to enjoy myself, at least. Maybe even try to make friends.

I felt around curiously my backpack and pulled out the square-like case of my mixed cd that I had made.

I smirked a bit. Maybe a little 00s music could get the party moving in my favor.


	7. 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝟏𝟗𝟗𝟗

For me, most parties sucked. At least, the ones from my decade did. It usually consisted of people staying glued to their phones, taking videos of things they'd regret the next day, and red-eyed bathroom selfies.

I had a tad bit more hope for the 90's, as the night was still young. 

As Brad and I got out of the car in front of the giant house in a snow-blanketed suburb, I could hear the beat of a hip-hop song vibrating through the bricks and onto the sidewalk. "Do you think her neighbors will call the cops?" I asked, looking up at the house. 

Brad shook his head. "Nah, Ashley throws these parties every time her parents are out of town, which is pretty much always. The neighbors are used to it," he said, walking up to her house. "Coming or not?" He called over his shoulder.

I took a breath and followed him. Brad knocked on the door, and Ashley answered, a cheery smile on her face. "Hey, Brad," she gushed, holding a red cup in her hand. She looked at me. "Hey...you," she greeted with the absence of my name.

I could hear the rumblings of fight somewhere in the house.

I gave a mild smile. "Hi, Ashley." 

"Come on in," she said, closing the door behind us. "You can put your coats wherever."

I pushed through the mad chaos of the end of winter break house party. I felt more than a little intimidated, but I was with Brad. That should mean something, right?

I wondered how Ashely managed to invite this many people without the help of Facebook. I guess gossip spread fast if you needed to get the invites out. I imagined her passing out printed flyers for the party with her address on it, and then I thought about how cheesy that sounded. The flyers most likely promised alcohol, which would get most students' attention. I wondered if they called up each other on the phones "Bye Bye Birdie" style to spread the word. 

I glanced around the rooms. No authority figures were in sight, which was ultimately for the best. It was the perfect arena for freedom, regardless of someone trashing the living room rug with their Tequila. 

The guests hanging around with cups in their hands looked straight out of 10 Things I Hate About You. Crop tops and plaid skirts, spaghetti strap dresses, and oversized Hawaiian shirts. 

It was a kaleidoscope of people drinking, smoking, talking, and hooking up.

A shirtless football player, who was clearly wasted, stood in the middle of a gathered group yelling at some poor kid who'd bumped into him.

When I turned around, Brad was gone. He'd left me again. I didn't want to be that girl at the party who didn't know anyone. So, I began to walk aimlessly through the house, passing by groups playing cards, suck & blow, and spin the bottle.

I stuck to the wall as the song "Two Princes" began to play. I watched Ashley swoop down and and snort something off the pale-yellow tile of the kitchen counter. Pretty sure I wasn't supposed to see that, but I had.

I felt a wave of relief to find Rachel and a few of her friends over by the snack table. Perfect. It was more of my scene anyway. 

"Hey," I said as I approached them. 

"Oh, hey!" Rachel exclaimed, turning around with a handful of pretzels. "You look so cute!"

"Thanks," I smiled, looking at her outfit too. "Aw, I love the dress," I said as she gave a playful spin. 

She tapped her two friends. "Guys, this is Liz. She's new," she beamed, and her two friends gave me friendly smiles. "Liz, this is Sarah," she said, pointing to the tall brunette. "And this is Jenny," she gestured to a smaller, blonde-haired girl. 

"Hey," I repeated, giving an awkward wave. Some guy came over with a bottle, pounding back an insane amount of liquor. Sarah seemed gave him a playful punch in the arm. "Hey, take it easy. You're my ride, remember?" She laughed as he kissed the side of her head. Sarah turned to me. "This is my boyfriend, Travis." 

"Fun-Dip," I said, smiling to myself and remembering him as the guy out in the parking lot with Brad. 

"What?" He asked, a grin of amusement on his face. 

"Nothing," I shook my head.

Travis nodded to me, taking a swig. "Wait, it's Liz, right? You must be the family friend staying with Brad." 

I nodded. "And you must be a psychic twin," I added, laughing a little. 

"Hey, what's this I hear about you and Brooks Brown?" He asked, putting an arm around Sarah and Rachel for balance. "Word is you two are a thing."

I noticed Jenny's face fall a little bit at those words.

I crinkled my eyebrows. "What? No. We're barely friends. I just met him today," I explained.

Jenny took a sip from her cup.

"Oh," Travis seemed confused. "So, you two didn't do it in the boys' bathroom?" 

I felt my heart race a little. Why did he think that? Rachel and Sarah were now giving him weird looks as well. 

"No," I said in a half-hearted laugh, grabbing a few Doritos from a bowl and munching on them. "Who told you this?" 

Travis shrugged. "Ashley," he said simply, pointing to where she stood by the tv, talking with Brad and a few others. 

"Weird," I mumbled, staring at her. She met my gaze and gave me a half smile. I half-smiled back. 

"Hey, you want anything, Liz?" Sarah asked, pouring herself a drink. 

"Oh, no, I probably shouldn't just in case he does," I said, nodding over to where Brad and his friends were taking shots. "Someone's got to drive us home." 

Rachel laughed. "Wow, he's really going for it," she said, watching as Brad finished off another shot of whiskey. His friends cheered and fist-bumped around him. 

"I still don't understand what you see in that," I laughed as he threw his hands up in the air and hollered while his friends slapped him on the back. 

"Hey, it's something to tell his future kids," Travis joked, taking a sip from the beer can. 

"Or future students," I mused, smiling a little to myself. 

"Really? Brad as a teacher?" Rachel laughed, crinkling her eyebrows. "That I'd like to see." 

I smiled at her as she continued watching Brad goof off with his friends. "I hope you do," I said to myself. 

Suddenly, the music stopped, and a collective groan erupted from the crowd.

"What's up?" Ashley asked, hurrying over to the stereo with her friends, her hair slightly messy. "Why did the music stop?" 

"My CD's busted," some guy said, inspecting the CD he'd pulled out of the boombox. "You got anything else?"

"No! I told you all the good CD's are at my mom's house! My dad only has his stupid 70s music." Ashley sulked. "What the hell are we supposed to do now?" 

A few drunk partygoers offered to sing, and then I had an idea. And no, it wasn't for me to sing. That would be a real tragedy. 

"I have might have something," I volunteered timidly. Then I reached into my bag, pulling out the mix CD my friends and I had made. "Here," I said, handing it to the guy. 

Ashley frowned. "It's not, like, weird music, is it?" She asked me, seemingly suspicious. "I don't want to listen to techno all night." 

"Just try it," I said as the guy inspected the CD and put the disk in. "And what do you have against techno?"

Ashley just glared at me.

I sighed. "Okay, it's not techno, I promise. But if it sucks, we can take it out and listen to your dad's music."

The others were quiet, holding their red cups and gathering around the living room, waiting to hear the music. I silently hoped the songs on my CD weren't too much for them to handle. 

The guy pressed play. I couldn't remember what songs my friends had burned. It was supposed to be fun throwback road-trip music.

When the piano music wafted from the speakers, I felt a grin creep to my lips. Talk about the perfect house party song. 

Hear a knock on the door, and the night begins

The kids stood around, as if trying to recognize the song or figure out whether they'd heard it before or not.

As the song kept picking up its beat, I turned to Rachel. "Come on, if we start dancing, they will too." 

Rachel looked reluctant. "No, I don't really know how to dance to this," she admitted.

"Who cares?" I turned to Sarah, Jenny, and Travis. "Help us out," I said, pulling Rachel toward the middle of the living room as the song continued. 

Sometimes you gotta stay in. And you know where I live. Yeah, you know what we is. Sometimes you gotta stay in, in. 

I began to move steadily to the beat, just side to side. Nothing too crazy, just how me and my friends would when we had dance parties at sleepovers.

I could tell Rachel and her friends weren't used to this, and their dancing was somewhat off as a result. Slowly, they began to copy my movements, adding some hip action and putting on their own spins.

Travis grabbed Sarah, and those two began to dance together. One by one, the other kids did the same, laughing and bopping their heads to the strange, unfamiliar song. Even Brad and his friends started to drunkenly move along, swaying side to side with big, silly grins, shouting nonsensical lyrics as if they knew the words.

Welcome to my house. Baby take control now. We can't even slow down. We don't have to go out.

Soon, it seemed the whole house was moving, some of the better dancers jumping to the center and showing off a few of their moves. A circle formed, and I laughed with the others as everyone got in and had fun with their own dances. 

As the song changed from "My House" to "All Night Longer," the dancers looked more confused. 

"I've never heard this before, dude," Travis admitted over the noise to me, dancing anyway with Sarah.

"Hey, I'm feeling it," another kid called from across the room as he bopped his head with his friends. 

I laughed a little, remembering how my friends back home would mainly just bopped around to these while we did our makeup and pregamed before going out.

It felt cool to be cool, to be the girl with something no one else had. I knew I was cheating since the thing I had was a playlist from the future, but that didn't matter. I was accepted. 

When Brad looked like he couldn't hold himself up much longer, and I knew it was time to leave. I took out my CD much to the protest of the others, but luckily others had pitched in with CD's from their cars, and the music returned to its own decade.

"Okay, come on, big guy," I sighed, grabbing Brad's arm, and throwing it over my shoulder. Travis and Rachel helped me bring him to his car. "I think maybe I should drive." 

Brad squinted his eyes at me. "Lizzy, I... I think there's a party going on...going on over there," he slurred, pointing to Ashley's house. 

I suppressed a laugh. "I think you're right," I nodded. I turned to Travis. "Thanks so much for helping me with him," I said. 

"No worries," he grinned. "He's partied out." 

Rachel gave me a hug goodbye. "I'll call ya," she said, and then she waved to Brad. "See you tomorrow, goofball. If you'll even come to school."

Brad waved back to her droopily, grinning like an idiot. He looked like a slap-happy five-year-old coming down from a sugar rush. "Rachel..." he slurred, a shy, sleepy grin on his face. "You're like really cool...you're so cool," he said, half falling over in his seat, half trying to wink at her. 

Rachel blushed and shook her head. "Get home safely, kids," she laughed, giving me another quick hug, and then heading back up the path with Travis. 

I drove home and helped Brad out of the car who was half-asleep already. Once I pushed him into his bed, I left to change into pajamas and get in my own bed, feeling happy about the night.

Overall, I was glad I went. 

I fell asleep that night thinking about the rumor Ashley had spread about me and Brooks. I wondered if she saw us talking outside the school and wanted to make me sound like I was easy or something. But why? I wasn't a threat to her by a long shot, and it wasn't like I was getting in between her and Brad. Then why did she hate me? 

I hoped the rumor hadn't reached Brooks or any of his friends. They were the only lunch table I was planning to sit with tomorrow afternoon. But maybe that wasn't a good idea. Maybe I should avoid them. Better to avoid them this week just in case the rumor had spread to them.

My eyes shot open. Oh my fucking god. I had completely forgotten about Eric and Dylan, let alone what loomed ahead. Shit. 

I suddenly realized why I was here. I had to stop it from happening. Just like that the mission had turned from trying to get home to changing the past.

Then I remembered my research paper. How could I write about something that hadn't happened yet? Or might not possibly ever happen? 

Fuck the paper.

This was no longer a bad essay. I had a chance to do something good.

But who should I go to first? Which of the two would be easiest to talk down? And how do I let them know that I know?

I went over today's date in my head. It was early January of '99, months before the shootings. The arrest of '98 had already happened. It was too late to stop that. NBK was on their minds by now, right? I couldn't think. It was as if all my research was slowly fading away from my mind. 

Okay. Think. Strategically. One step at a time. 

Step one was to earn their trust. I had to brush up on my KMFDM, change up my clothes, and distance myself from the kids they considered popular, at least in school anyway.

Yeah, okay. I could do this. 

This weekend. Saturday afternoon. Pizza sounded good for lunch. And I knew a perfect place to get it where I could kill two birds with one stone. Thing was, I didn't know who I wanted to talk to yet, Eric or Dylan.

Before I drifted off to sleep, I grabbed a penny off my nightstand and flipped it.

Tails. 

I took a deep breath and stared up at the ceiling. Fuck. That's the one I was afraid of.


	8. 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐣𝐚𝐜𝐤'𝐬

It started when I asked Brad to drop me off at Blackjack Pizza.

"Why?" He asked, not looking up from the TV in the living room.

"Because I'm hungry," I replied, standing in front of the TV to block his view. "Please? I thought you were going out with your friends anyway. You can just drop me off on the way. Plus, your mom won't let me take the car out alone in all the ice and snow."

Brad grumbled something under his breath and then stood, clicking off the TV. "Lemme get my coat," he muttered, disappearing into the hallway. While he was gone, I looked at myself in the living room mirror. Black t-shirt with blue lettering reading something about the Columbine basketball team which Brad had given to me, claiming it was too small for him now. Ripped jeans, converse, and a gray-blue flannel. My hair wasn't anything special either – the classic bedhead look.

"Let's just hope you don't see anyone you know," Brad teased lightly once he had parked in front of the place.

"Shut up," I growled with a half-smile, getting out into the bone-chilling air.

"Pick you up in an hour?" Brad called. I nodded. "You better save me a slice or ten," he grinned.

"Why don't you just come in with me, then?" I asked, a little confused.

Brad shook his head. "Can't. I told the guys I'd meet them at the mall in fifteen minutes. And it's going to take me an hour to get there in this weather," he said and then waved after I closed my door, driving away.

As I entered the pizzeria, a small ding above the door went off. There were only a few customers picking up their orders. A mother and her two restless kids, a guy dressed in a huge, heavy coat, and a blonde-haired girl about my age.

Eric appeared from the back and stood behind the counter. He hadn't noticed me yet. He was wiping it down with a cloth, deep into his work.

"Hi, welcome to Blackjack Pizza. What can I get for you today?"

I froze and met Eric's steady gaze over the counter. It was like his pictures off Google had come to life and were talking to me.

He looked almost bored, a lazy smile paired with dead eyes. "Would you like to try our buffalo chicken pizza today? It's new."

Did he really not recognize me?

He continued his lines like he did with any other customer. Finally, I got a grip. "No, thanks," I said, trying to steady my voice. My heart slowed to normal, and I tried to treat this like any other person was here talking to me. Maybe he really didn't remember Brooks introducing me to the group?

"And buffalo chicken pizza? Wow, yeah, I don't know about that," I added, pretending to read the menu overhead.

"Yup, it's weird but it's becoming popular," he replied, shrugging with a small grimace.

"I'm just going to do your smallest pizza please," I said, knowing full well I could eat a whole 16-inch pizza by myself and probably still be hungry.

He punched something into the register. "Okay, and what toppings can I get for you today?"

I tried to conceal my smirk. Should I do it? Would that freak him out? Do I care? "Um... Can I get pepperoni and green peppers, please?" I asked, pretending like I didn't know they were his favorite toppings.

Something about the corners of his lips seemed to twitch upward into a smile. He typed the rest of the order in and looked back at me. "That's an excellent choice," he said genuinely, his customer service voice gone. "Anything to drink?"

"Sure, why not," I said, pointing to the small cup part of the display showing the cup sizes. "Coke?"

Eric looked around suspiciously, then he looked back to me and said deadpan, "Best I can do is prescription pills."

It took me a moment to realize he was joking, and I barked out a nervous laugh. "Oh," I shook my head, laughing a little harder as he cocked an eyebrow and grinned. "No, I mean, not coke-coke, like coca-cola, I'm not a drug addict, I mean...what? Oh, you obviously knew that. I'm just...okay, yeah one coke, please." My words jumbled together, and I could tell by his expression that he was at least a little amused. "Did I make it weird?"

Eric nodded, taking a Styrofoam cup in the small size, and filling it from the soft drink machine with Coke. He handed me the drink. "You did, but thank god. It's been too normal here." He looked at the register. "Is that all for you today?"

"I don't know. Were you joking about those prescription pills?" I teased.

"Oh, I don't joke with customers," he said, his smile widening. "But I don't have any on me today. You'll have to come back."

"Add it to my tab, then," I shrugged. "What's my damage?"

"Ten-fifty-seven."

I handed him the money, a little bit over the amount due, and he gave me my change back. I took the change and put it in the formerly empty tip jar.

"Thanks," Eric sounded surprised and gave me a grin. "Most people don't do that."

"Most people are assholes," I shrugged, taking a sip from my straw.

Eric nodded, still smiling in a knowing way. Then he grabbed the order that he'd written down. "I'm going to go have them start on your pizza," he said, as if he had forgotten how his job worked.

I nodded, and he headed toward the kitchen and then came back to the counter a few seconds later. "Okay, it should be out in twenty minutes. We've still got other pizzas in there, so," He shrugged. "Might be a little bit until it's ready."

"No big deal," I said, chewing on the straw. "I'm not in a hurry."

Eric kept staring at me, but not in a way that made me feel uncomfortable, simply curious. Finally, he spoke up. "You go to Columbine, right?"

I raised my eyebrows. I knew I had kind of met him in the cafeteria the day before, but he really hadn't looked at me. He was too busy talking to Nate to notice I was standing there. Did he remember me after all? "How'd you know?" I asked, wanting to know what he would say.

"Your shirt," he said, nodding at it, his eyes now on my chest.

"Ah," I looked down at my Columbine basketball team shirt and then back up to him. "Yeah, I don't play for them. I just, you know, have the shirt."

"I figured," he smiled, looking me up and down. "You a senior?"

"Apparently. I mean, according to paperwork," I took another sip.

He laughed at this. It was a low, quiet, almost non-existent laugh, but it was still a laugh. I couldn't help but smile a teensy bit as well.

I handed him my cup as I had finished nervous-chugging the Coke. "You guys have free-refills here?"

Eric's lips turned up into a half-smirk, the corner of his mouth wrinkling, and he looked around. "Technically no, but I guess I could break the rules," he said, taking my cup, refilling it, and giving it back to me. "Just don't report me. I'm this close to a promotion," he teased, holding up his fingers to show how close he was.

I laughed and gave a ridiculous wink. "Don't worry, if they ask, I'll just say I held you at gunpoint and made you refill it."

I mentally cringed. How poorer of word choice could I use around Eric fucking Harris then talking to him about guns? Shit. I just gave him the idea. It was all my fault. I just caused Columbine. I needed to shut up. Now.

Wait, no I didn't. They were already planning it by now. What was this again? January of '99?

Eric wasn't bothered. In fact, he laughed again. "Oh, so this is an armed holdup, now?" He joked back.

I shrugged, holding up my right hand and forming a pretend gun with my fingers, pointing it at him. "That is exactly what this is," I said, trying not to laugh as I played along. "Sorry you had to find out this way, but I'm going to need all the sugar packets and pepperoni slices you have."

Eric raised his eyebrows at my pretend finger gun, repressing a smile. "Anything else?"

I moved toward the counter. "Your compliancy is refreshing," I said, the grin inevitably returning to my face at the stupidity of the situation. I pretended to cock the gun as I pointed my fingers at him. "Don't be a hero."

Eric unsuccessfully tried to hold in his laughter as he held up his hands in surrender. Suddenly he pretended to pull out a gun from under the counter, folding his fingers into a firearm the same way I did and pointing it at me.

"Shit," I laughed. "Okay, we'll both set them down on three." I was having too much fun to notice a very tall Dylan appear from the back. He froze when he saw our stance, clearly confused.

"I-" Dylan began, then stopped himself. He glanced at Eric.

I pretend-fired anyway at Dylan, making a dorky gunshot noise. Dylan just gave me a blank expression, and Eric shot me a look of horror. "Why did you shoot him?" Eric asked, trying not to die of laughter at this point as he looked from Dylan and back to me. "He had a family!"

Dylan looked half-annoyed, half-zoned out. "This is so above my pay grade."

I stared at my gun-hand in mock surprise. "I didn't even know it was loaded," I cried.

Suddenly, Eric and I burst out laughing, absolutely dying from the confused yet concerned look on Dylan's face. He just stood there, motionless in alarm as we got our shit together.

"Sorry, Dylan," I said, wiping the tears from my eyes as I finally recovered. "Nothing personal. I was about to shoot Eric before you walked in."

Eric looked over at me suddenly. "Hey, how did you know our names?"

Shit. Shit. Shit. "Um, your name tags?" I tried. Thank holy Frosted Flakes they were wearing name tags.

Eric nodded, seemingly buying it. "What's yours?"

"I'm Liz," I said, looking from Eric to Dylan.

"She's a senior at Columbine," Eric explained to Dylan over his shoulder. Dylan nodded and gave me a knowing look.

"Right," he said quietly, both of us knowing perfectly well that he'd walked me to tech theater class yesterday. But still, it's not like we'd talked then.

Eric, however, was clueless, and seemed to have forgotten briefly meeting me yesterday. "Her pizza almost done, Dyl?" He asked.

"Pepperoni and green peppers, right?" Dylan replied, looking to Eric for confirmation. "Yeah, it's about ready."

I suddenly remembered something. "Hey, could I eat it here?" I asked. "My ride can't pick me up for another hour, and I don't want to call him while he's driving through this weather."

Eric nodded. "Yeah, sure. You're not going to bother anyone. Tt's a slow day. And our boss is chill. Just eat it at the counter."

"For real? Thanks," I said, smiling.

"No problem," Eric replied, re-adjusting the Blackjack Pizza cap he wore.

Dylan went into the kitchen and came back with the box. "Here you go," he said, handing it to me. I opened the lid, and the steam from the pizza rose and wafted through the air, making my stomach growl. "Alright fellas, help me out," I said, gesturing to the pizza and looking at the two of them. "I'm not doing this alone."

"No, that's okay, you paid for it," Eric said, and Dylan shook his head.

"I just shot threatened to hold up this place for a free-refill and then fatally shot your coworker," I said to Eric, my grin breaking through anyway. "It's the least I can do."

To my surprise, Dylan was the first to shrug and take me up on my offer. "I agree," he said, reaching for a slice with his long fingers.

"Dylan, don't. It's her pizza," Eric protested.

Dylan was already two bites into one of the slices as he looked at Eric. "Um, I'm sorry, did you get shot today? No," he said with a mouthful, shoving the rest of the pizza down.

Eric eventually had a slice while Dylan had like five, double-checking with me each time to make sure it was okay and apologizing twenty times.

The bell above the door dinged again as a group of three teenagers entered and then froze, eyes glued to Eric and Dylan. "Shit, man, I didn't know the two trench coat mafia freaks worked here," the one in the varsity jacket said, nudging his friends and chuckling.

I turned back to look at the two who were glaring at the three jocks who'd walked in. Eric's jaw was clenched, while Dylan took off his cap and ran a hand through his hair.

"Let's go, I don't want them making my food," The second one snickered, and then they seemed to notice me for the first time. "You wanna come with us? We got room in the car for one more."

"No, I'm sick that day," I mumbled.

"What?" One of the jocks raised his eyebrows.

"What?" I replied.

Another jock walked in behind them, shaking off the snow. Upon seeing me, he waved. "Hey, Liz."

The other jocks looked at him, and I felt Eric and Dylan's eyes on me.

"You know her?" The varsity jacket guy asked.

"Yeah, she was at the party last night," Travis responded. "She's the one with the cool music."

The jocks had a look of realization on their faces as they turned back to me. Out of nowhere, they seemed friendlier.

"Oh, shit. You're the girl who fucked that one guy. What's his name? Brooks Brown," one of the jocks added, nodding like he finally recognized me.

"What?" Eric and Dylan said at the same time.

"Okay, why does everyone believe that?" I groaned, throwing up my hands.

Travis shook his head, smacking his friend upside the head. "Nah, bro. Ashley's just saying shit. You know she does that."

"Wait, so you didn't, or you did?" The other jock asked me.

"Yeah, and are you looking for more?" Another asked, and Travis nudged him in annoyance.

I felt the jocks' eyes on me, even Eric and Dylan's. "No, Brooks and I are just kind of friends. I met him yesterday. Can you please stop saying that? It's bullshit."

Travis nodded and glared at his friends. "Yes, we will. Won't we?" He growled at them.

They muttered agreements as they began to leave. Travis turned to me before he left. "See ya, Liz. And sorry about that."

"Say hi to Sarah for me," I called as he walked out.

"So... you're friends with them?" Eric asked slowly, his voice tighter and less pleasant than it had been.

Dylan had gone back into the kitchen while I had my back turned, and when I looked back, Eric was glaring at me, looking half-angered and half-betrayed.

"No, well yes, I mean...not really, no. Travis, the one who stood up for me back there," I said, stumbling over my words, his angered eyes making me a little nervous. I knew he was mad at the jocks, but I still felt threatened. "He's nice."

"Nice?" Eric gave a sardonic laugh. "None of them are 'nice.'"

"I get that," I said, nodding understandably at the way they had treated him. "And I'm sorry about that."

Eric stared down at the counter. I could tell he didn't like sympathy or looking vulnerable. "But you still hang around them?"

"No, they invited me to a party last night. That's all," I said quickly, wondering why I was acting so defensive. "I didn't know any of them before then. I'm new."

Eric stared at me. He began to nod slowly. "I know. I remember you," he said finally. "At lunch yesterday. You were with Brooks."

Okay this didn't look good. "Yeah, but nothing happened before then. I just met him out in the parking lot, and he brought me to meet you guys."

Eric's poker face was incomparable. I couldn't read his thoughts, couldn't tell if he believed me or not. Finally, he chuckled a little and shook his head. "You know, the more that I think about it, Brooks would've been bragging his ass off if he'd gotten with you," he said, the easy smile returning to his face. "So, I believe you."

I breathed out, calming myself. "Why would he be bragging?" I asked quietly.

Eric paused and seemed to realize what he'd said. He looked away, scratching the back of his neck. "Well, he's our friend, and you're you, and that's kind of a big deal for us."

I felt the blush creep to my cheeks. "Really?" I looked at my baggy clothes and felt my messy hair. "I'm hardly a Pamela Anderson," I said, trying to think of a 90's girl that he'd possibly consider hot.

Eric shrugged and seemed to be analyzing me. "Nah, you're more of a Hope Sandoval."

"Oh my god," I laughed.

"Okay, well you're... not so that bad either anyway." Eric crinkled his eyebrows after he'd said it. "I don't even think that was real a sentence."

I gave a weak smile and held my pretend finger gun back up to my head. "Okay, I'll just leave."

Eric shook his head, the smile still there. "Don't make me shoot that gun out of your hand."

At the corner of my eye, I saw Brad pull up in front of Blackjack's in his car. "Yeah?" I asked him, pretending to get ready to shoot.

"I'll do it," Eric threatened playfully.

"I know you will," I said, not pretending at that point anymore but still using the teasing voice. He laughed, and I shrugged, folding the pizza box with the last few pieces inside. "I got to go. My ride's here. Thanks for letting me fuck up your day. Pass that along to Dylan as well."

Eric smiled again, something in his eyes sparking. "Let's do it again sometime," he joked.

I turned back. "I'd like that," I said in all seriousness. Then I stopped and timidly walked back to him. "Um, hey, do you maybe want my number? You know, so we can pretend assassinate each other again?"

On the outside, he only looked a little taken aback. But I knew he was completely caught off guard. He seemed like he was trying to process it for a second and then snapped back. "Oh, um, yeah if you want to give it to me," he said casually.

I nodded, smiling awkwardly. "Yeah, I do, if that's cool with you."

"Yeah, that's cool. It's fine." Eric was trying to play it down, I could tell, and it made me want to smile even wider. He pulled out a paper napkin from behind the counter and handed me a black permanent marker.

I rolled my eyes and grabbed his wrist, scribbling the digits onto his skin.

"Liz, let's go. Mom wants us home before the ice storm hits. Come on," Brad called from the door.

"Coming," I called over my shoulder. And then I turned back to Eric, who gave me a wide-eyed look.

"Brad Tyler?" He asked. "Is he your boyfriend?"

I wanted to vomit right there. "God, no. I'm spending the semester here with his family. We're...all old friends." Then I looked a little panicked. "Why? Is that bad?"

Eric shook his head. "No. You're just...full of surprises," he said, trying to smile.

"Liz!" Brad called. "You know what, screw it, I'll be in the car," he said, heading back out.

"Call me," I said with a light smile. "Or don't, no pressure, not trying to be weird," I added, a little nervously.

As I turned to leave and was a few steps from the door, I heard my phone ring. I pulled it out of my bag and answered, a little confused. "Hello?"

"I just wanted to make sure it wasn't fake," I heard a voice say in my ear and from a few feet behind me. I turned, still holding the phone. Eric was behind the counter, pressing the landline on the wall against his ear, giving me a shy, awkward grin. "Not trying to be weird," he mimicked me.

I smiled back. "What do you think now?" I asked into the phone.

"You're real," he said quietly.

He hung up the phone as I did the same. I waved, and he nodded, smiling back.

As I got in the car, Brad gave me a long look. "Did you give him your number?" Brad asked.

"What? No."

"Yes, you did, I just saw you," he smirked, starting the car, and pulling out of the parking lot. "Who is he?"

I guess Brad hadn't seen him closely. How would he react if I told him who it was? "Why do you care?"

Brad shook his head. "You're not allowed to be giving your number out to guys without my approval."

"Don't be that person," I rolled my eyes.

"If he calls, I'm answering the phone."

I looked at him strangely. "How are you going to know its him when he calls? If he calls?"

"I guess I'm playing receptionist tonight," he shrugged, his smirk widening. "I'll answer every phone that rings in the house."

Well, guess I'll just have to fight him to the death to get to the phone first.


	9. 𝐰𝐞 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠

Eric didn't call right away. Meanwhile, I was flipping my shit, wondering whether he'd really call or not. I was also hoping Brad wouldn't hear me answer the phone and want to talk to whoever he thought it was. 

Rachel had called shortly after I'd gotten home from Blackjack's. Brad pretty much dove for the phone, and I felt a moment of panic when he answered it. After a moment, he handed it to me and said in a teasing, "He sounds hot," and then mouthed to me it's Rachel.

I rolled my eyes and grabbed the phone from him. Rachel wanted to know if I had any plans tomorrow and invited me to a sleepover at her house. Honestly, a sleepover and some girl talk sounded nice, so I agreed. Excitedly, she said she'd come pick me up tomorrow around noon. 

After I'd hung up, Brad's mom came upstairs and knocked on my slightly cracked door. "Hey, sweetie," she said, holding a steaming mug in one hand. "Can I come in?" 

"Sure," I said, smiling at her. I'd warmed up to her, and she seemed like a really loving mother, someone I could trust here. 

She entered the room and sat on my bed next to me, handing me the mug. I looked at the thick liquid in the hot mug, an herbal smell wafting into my nose. "It's green tea," she said, answering my question before I could ask it. "Perfect for relaxation." 

"Thanks," I replied, taking a tentative sip, careful not to burn my tongue. 

"So, do you have any plans tonight?" She asked.

I shook my head. Aside from the awaited phone call, my schedule was clear. 

"Because I was thinking about inviting our neighbors over for dinner, and I wanted to make sure you kids didn't have anything going on," She continued, standing up and fixing her hair in my mirror. "Would that be okay with you, honey?"

"Yeah, sure that's fine," I said, nodding my head and taking another careful sip of the tea. It burned my throat, but the warmth was somehow easing my nerves of Eric calling. 

She ruffled my hair and smiled. "Great. Any thoughts for what I should make?" 

"I'll eat anything," I said honestly, shrugging. "Just no pizza. I ate my weight in that today already." 

"Okay, I'll check with Brad," she said, heading out of my room. "But if I ask him then I'll probably end up making Mac 'N Cheese and cereal," she grinned before walking back down the stairs.

I got up and set the mug down on my dresser, staring my cellphone on my bed. 

Come on, you piece of 90's advanced technology shit. Ring.

No luck. I groaned and threw myself onto my bed again. I wasn't in the mood to have dinner with the neighbors. They would just be another group that I had to convince that I belonged in this decade.

I must've taken a nap for two whole hours without realizing it when I heard the doorbell ring downstairs. 

I checked the clock: 6:30. And still no goddamn call. Why did I care so much? It wasn't that I liked Eric in that way. It was just everything else that was making me anxious.

See, when I first started researching them for the paper, I didn't think of either boy in any other way than mass murderers. To me, they were vicious, heartless killers who murdered their victims in cold blood. They were to be feared and hated. I remember crying while I listened to the 911 calls for the first time. I could recall feeling that if I had been in the school that day, I'd be terrified of both boys, hoping they'd be stopped at once, hoping they'd both die. 

Now, I had begun to back-peddle a bit. I didn't feel the same anger and fear I'd felt before. My emotions had fucked that up for me a couple of weeks into the research paper. I felt confused. I felt devastated. I felt misplaced in the universe. 

And being here, with them alive once again, had made me feel even more. Maybe it was Dylan walking me to class, maybe it was Eric laughing with me at Blackjack's. Whatever the hell it was, I had cracked and felt a little something in my stomach that made me feel an overwhelming change of emotions that only confused me even more. 

"Liz, come down, they're here," Brad muttered through my door, shaking me out of my thoughts. I was lying upside-down at this point, halfway off the side of my bed and about to hit my head on the carpet. 

"Who? What?" I asked, scrambling to sit up.

"Our next-door neighbors," he answered, clearly less than thrilled. "Heads up, the one our age is freaking strange," he whispered before popping back out of my room.

I sighed. That's great. I probably looked like I just rolled out of a war zone. My hair was a mess, so I quickly flipped my head up and down, running my fingers through it. Eh, this was good enough. 

As I slumped down the stairs, I could hear Brad's parents talking and laughing loudly with two other adult voices. 

When I got to the last step, I wanted to turn around and run right back up the stairs to my room. 

No, no, no, no, no. No. 

Why did they have to live next door? Fuck, why couldn't we have invited the neighbors on the other side of us? I was not ready for this, holy flaming hot cheetos, no. 

"Liz, honey, come on over and say hi," Brad's mom said kindly, smiling and waving me over.

I crept over from the steps, still zombie-like. "Hi," I said to the two adults, trying to smile. 

Brad's father was pouring drinks for the parents, and Brad himself sat uncomfortably at the kitchen table, probably wishing he were elsewhere, but for a different reason than me. 

"Hello, Liz, it's nice to meet you," the sweet-faced woman said, shaking my hand. "Mel tells me you just started at Columbine. I'll have to have my son show you around." 

I just kept smiling, hoping I wouldn't die right there. 

"Speaking of which, where is he?" The taller man asked, looking around. 

"I asked him to bring over the salad I made," the woman replied. "I told him where it was, but knowing him he probably forgot already," she laughed as Mel did the same. 

As if on cue, there was a knock at the door. "Oh, that must be him," Mel said, setting down her glass of white wine and walking over to get the door. 

I braced myself. I felt incredibly self-conscious. My hair was a mess, my clothes were wrinkled from lying in my bed, and most of my makeup was smudged off. Can I just go back to my room and die please? 

"Honey, come here, I want you to meet Liz," the woman said to her son at the door as Mel took the bowl of salad from him. 

I gulped.

He walked over, having not seen me yet, a polite smile on his face. His mother gestured from me to him.

"Liz, this is our son, Eric." 

Eric froze and returned my look, but masked it quicker than I could.

"Hey," he smiled at me.

"Sup," I mumbled. 

He gave me a knowing glance, and then his mom spoke. "If you need anything, I'm sure Eric will help you find your way at your new school, won't you?" She said to me, and then looked up at her son who was a few inches taller than she was. 

Eric kept staring at me, almost like he was enjoying the secret we were sharing, outwardly pretending to be strangers when just hours ago we were having a pretend shoot-out and tossing back pizza. "For sure," he said casually.

I fought the urge to grin back.

"Alright, let's head into the dining room, everyone," Mel said cheerily. "The food's about ready." 

I watched as they shuffled their way into the dining room, Eric hanging a little behind with me. 

"So how many times are we going to keep meeting?" I asked him, raising an eyebrow. "I think the count is up to 3 so far. Am I that forgettable?"

Eric shrugged. "We could shoot for a cool 4." 

"Seriously, why lie about it?"

"You really want Brad to know the weird Eric kid got your number?" He countered, raising an eyebrow. 

"You're not weird." 

"And you're not forgettable," Eric responded. "So, I guess we're even, Anyway, where's the fun in telling the truth? It's overrated."

My grin widened a little. "Never mind. I take it back, you're weird as fuck." 

Eric smirked and held up his hand in the shape of a gun again, pointed at me, pretending to shoot me in the head. 

"That's really your solution to everything, huh," I said blankly, an amused eyebrow raised. 

Eric looked like he wanted to laugh but held it in. "Nah, just lately." 

I rolled my eyes, but my smile gave me away. "If I didn't know better, I'd say that sounded like a threat," I replied.

For just a split-second, something flashed across Eric's face. A look of slight panic and suspicion. But as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone and replaced by his lazy grin. "Never," he said finally and motioned with a jerk of his head for me to follow him into the dining room to join the rest. 

I was going to have to be more careful in the kinds of things I said around him, especially with April around the corner, and certain events on their way in motion.


	10. 𝐜𝐮𝐭𝐞...𝐨𝐛𝐣𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐲

The dinner wasn't as awkward as I thought it would be. Mel and Gabe — it was still weird calling my teacher's parents that — were very familiar with The Harris's. They asked about Kevin Harris, whom I remembered was Eric's older brother, away at the University of Colorado Boulder. I could tell at once that Kevin was the favorite child. Whenever Mel asked about Eric's activities, or Gabe asked Eric where he planned to go for college, his parents would somehow find a way to bring Kevin back up, comparing their younger son to their eldest. I could tell that Eric was hiding his contempt, stabbing at his food aggressively with his fork, unbeknownst to everyone except me. 

At some point, I met his gaze across the table. He looked ready to shoot himself as his parents rambled on and on about Kevin. I looked to my left where Brad sat. He looked bored out of his mind, balancing his spoon on the side of his plate, and then flinching when it clattered onto his plate before trying again. 

Somehow, the subject turned to cigarettes. "Do you smoke, Eric?" Gabe asked with a light smile. 

"Oh, Eric doesn't smoke," Mrs. Harris said at once, smiling over at her son. 

I watched as Eric grabbed his glass of ice water and took a large gulp. It was like he was forcing himself not to throw a tantrum in front of the table. 

"Neither does Kevin," Mrs. Harris continued. "He's never once gotten into drugs. You know, while Kevin was at Columbine, he started a fundraiser to raise awareness for—" 

"Can you excuse me?" Eric asked politely, interrupting his mom, and looking over at Brad's parents.

Mel nodded. "Sure, honey," she said, a bit startled. "The bathroom is down the—" 

"I just need to step outside for a second," Eric said, dizzily pushing back in his seat and standing up. "I'll be right back." 

I watched him walk across the room and out the side door. 

Mel looked worriedly at Eric's parents. "Is he okay?" 

Mrs. Harris nodded, taking a nervous sip of wine. "He's okay. I think it's just senior year stress. I keep telling him to join the soccer team again. I think that would give him the outlet he needs." 

"He's a good kid," Mr. Harris spoke up. "But he works himself up. That he gets from me, I'm afraid."

"Mom, can I go to Travis's now?" Brad whined next to me. "I told him I'd help him with that project we're working on." 

"Bradley Tyler, we have guests over. You can work on your project tomorrow," Gabe whispered to him. 

Brad rolled his eyes. I stared at him suspiciously.

"I better go see what's keeping Eric," Mrs. Harris said, beginning to stand. 

"I can go," I blurted. I felt Brad's curious side-glare burning into me. 

Surprised, Mrs. Harris smiled at me. "Oh, are you sure?" 

"Yeah," I said nonchalantly. "I want to, um, check out the snow, also. I'm sure it's covering...everything."

Wow, that could've gone smoother. 

"Okay, thank you, Liz," Mrs. Harris sat back down. 

I squirmed through the chairs and made my way outside, looking around for Eric. I shivered from the cold, pulling my flannel closer. 

Leaning against the house, Eric was staring into the backyard, taking drags from a cigarette held in his now frostbitten hand. 

"Eric doesn't smoke," I mocked with a smile.

He looked over at me, surprised, and then down at his cigarette. "I never said I didn't." He took another drag. "What are you doing out here?" 

"I could ask you the same." 

"I suppose you could," he gave me a weak smirk, and then the angry expression returned to his face as he glared at the ground. 

"Can I try?" I asked, joining him against the frozen brick wall and holding out my hand for his cigarette. 

He raised his eyebrows. "I don't know how I could stop you."

I took the cigarette and put it to my lips. He watched as I inhaled and blew out a puff without so much as a cough. 

"Wow," he laughed quietly, a sardonic smile on his face. "And here I was hoping I'd be your first."

"Nah, I lost my nicotine virginity freshman year," I responded, handing him back his cigarette, which he took and put to his lips again.

"Were you safe?" He teased.

"Camel lights."

"That's good," Eric chuckled.

"In all seriousness," I continued, avoiding his gaze," I think I started doing it to be cool," I said with a side-glance at Eric. "I was stupid enough to post a picture of me and my friends on Instagram where we—"

"Insta what?" Eric asked, giving me a strange look, rightfully so. 

I paused. Oh shit. "What?" I replied, trying to look confused. 

"Nothing," Eric shook his head, putting out his cigarette. "Sorry, I'm being weird. I think I'm just...I've got a lot on my plate."

"Do you want to hang out Monday after school?" I asked before I could stop myself. "Maybe just chill? I don't know." 

Eric looked as though I just told him a joke he'd already heard before. And in a way, I think that's exactly what happened. "Yeah, okay," He shook his head, brushing it off. 

"No, I'm serious," I said, walking in front of him. "I think you're cool, and I want to hang out."

"You think I'm cool?" 

I nodded. "Yeah." 

Eric ducked his head for a moment, but not before I noticed the tiny smile on his face. "I sort of promised Dylan that I'd go to the store with him to pick up a few things..." He gave me a curious look. "You maybe wanna come with?" 

I smiled. "I hate shopping." 

"Oh please, me too," He said, shaking his head. "No, we're just getting like two or three things. But afterwards we're going to Dylan's house. So, we can just hang then."

I wanted to laugh aloud, knowing this probably meant 'Doom and chill.' 

"Sure, sounds lit," I replied, laughing a little. 

Eric shot me another weird look. Fuck, that was not the right word. Not yet anyway. "I mean, cool. That sounds cool."

Eric chuckled. "You're different, aren't ya," he said, shaking his head. "That's good. Different is good," he reassured me. 

"Maybe you should take some of your own advice then," I said seriously, giving him a playfully nudge. "If different is good, then go easy on yourself, okay? You're smart and fun and cute." 

Eric's face turned red, and I couldn't tell if it was from the cold or embarrassment. "Um..." he seemed taken aback, and I knew he wasn't ready for all of that. "Did you just call me cute?"

Now it was my turn to sputter. "Oh, um, yeah, objectively."

Eric shook his head, smiling a little. "Okay, I'm too sober for this."

"Feel free to take all of that personally," I smiled, grabbing his arm, and pulling him toward the direction of the door. "Now come on, I'm freezing my ass of out here." 

Eric wriggled his arm free and followed me inside. "Thanks," he whispered awkwardly before we could go in. 

I smiled up at him. "If they ask, I couldn't find you, and you had to go to your house to get something, and that's why it took so long." 

"You're getting good at this," he said, stepping aside and gesturing for me to go in front of him. "After you." 

I smiled and walked into the dining room with a slightly less upset Eric Harris and a suspicious glare from Brad. I just hoped he wouldn't make this into something I didn't want it to be.


	11. 𝐛𝐨𝐰𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐞𝐬

"No, you don't understand. I suck at bowling. I'm the Holy Grail of bad bowlers."

I felt Rachel giving me puppy-dog eyes as I stared out the windshield toward Littleton Lanes.

"I'm not even sure how the scoring works," I added. "Plus, I didn't bring money with me, so..." 

Sarah leaned forward from the backseat of Rachel's car and put an arm on my shoulder. "I'll pay for your shoe rental, okay? Come on, you're going." 

"Can't we just do normal sleepover stuff? Like watch rom-coms and talk about our crushes?" I groaned, reluctantly opening the passenger door, and climbing out into the chilly air. 

"Speaking of crushes," Sarah winked at Jenny as the two got out of the backseat. "You wanna tell Liz the real reason why you wanted to come here, or do you want me?" 

Rachel locked her car and joined us as we hurried to the entrance, eager to escape the snow. 

Jenny blushed a deep red, trying to hide behind her hair. "Sarah, shut up."

"Why do you care if Liz knows?" Sarah laughed, opening the large door, and holding it for us. Immediately the smell of cheese pizza and shoe spray hit my nose, and my eyes were blinded with sparks of flashy, neon lights. 

"Knows what?" I asked. 

"Jenny likes—" 

"Sarah, I swear," Jenny growled, smacking her arm in vain as Sarah laughed and continued. 

"Let's just say that a certain boy Jenny's into happens to frequent this place," Sarah smirked. "And he just so happens to be here tonight." 

I felt myself smile. "Who is he?" 

Sarah smirked even sinisterly, as Jenny tried to get her to shut up to no avail. 

"Does he go to our school?" I asked as we got in line to rent our shoes. 

"Warm," Sarah answered for Jenny. 

"Do I know him?" 

"Warmer."

I racked my brain. I hadn't met that many kids at Columbine, granted I'd been there for a day. I ruled out Travis since he was dating Sarah. Okay, could it be one of the jocks from Blackjack's yesterday? But I didn't know their names. Oh, please tell me it wasn't Brad. 

"It's not Brad, right?" I frowned, hoping she would say no. 

Jenny shook her head. I sighed. "Good, because you do not want to—," I began, and then met Rachel's gaze. "I mean he's not horrible, but, ya know." 

Oh fuck. Wait, was it Eric or Dylan? That would be interesting to say the least. Should I just flat-out guess that, or would that sound weird that they would pop into my mind? I wasn't even too sure if any of those three knew them at all. 

"Is he tall or like average or...what are we looking at here?" I asked Jenny as the guy behind the counter handed us our shoes.

"He's tall," Rachel laughed.

"Can I get initials or something? I don't know that many people yet."

"But that'll make it obvious," Jenny whined.

"I guarantee you I'm the worst guesser," I ensured as we looked around for an open lane. 

"Fine," Jenny groaned. "It's BB." 

"Brooks Brown," I said instantly, a smile spreading across my face. "Holy shit, is that it? Is it Brooks?"

Jenny glared at me. "Worst guesser my ass," she mumbled. 

"Am I right, though?" I asked excitedly. 

Jenny blushed and shrugged. "Yeah," she said quietly. "Nice," I grinned, sliding into a spinning chair at a table in Lane 8. "He seems cool. You should talk to him." 

"Are you kidding me?" Jenny said, sadly clumping down into the seat next to me. "I could never tell Brooks I like him. I would look so stupid." 

"Just be straightforward," I said as I watched Rachel and Sarah try to lift different bowling balls to figure out which one was the best fit. "It's easy."

Jenny put her head in her hands. "No, it's not easy. He has my number and all, but he's never called me. I've been waiting, but he just sees me as a friend." She tapped her fingers on the table. "Plus, I thought guys liked it when girls played hard-to-get." 

Rachel dropped the bowling ball, making a loud noise as she and Sarah cracked up. "You can't be as bad as Rachel, Liz," Sarah joked over at me. 

I turned my attention back to Jenny. "Don't play games with Brooks, okay? Don't wait around for him to chase you. Guys are kind of clueless when it comes to hints, so it's better to just tell Brooks that you like him." 

"Yeah, and now's your chance, Jen," Sarah said, glancing over at the lane next to us. I turned my head to see Brooks himself with a group of about four others bowling in the adjacent lane. Immediately I picked out Dylan, as well as Nate, and what appeared to be a couple consisting of a boy I recognized to be Zach Heckler and a dark-haired girl who I'm pretty sure was Devon Addams. 

"Yeah, what's the worst he's going to say? No? That's fine, just be like 'okay, bye,'" I laughed, trying to loosen her up. "Jenny, you'll never know unless you say it."

I watched as Rachel stood up first to bowl. "Okay, here we go," she said, swinging back the purple ball and letting it go down the lane. It knocked over all the pins, and she smiled triumphantly. 

"Oh, fuck this game, you guys never told me you were a professional bowling team," I said in amazement. 

Rachel laughed and sat down across from me. "Nah, we're not professional at all. We just come here a lot." 

Now that I had noticed the group of Brooks and Company in the lane next to us, I kept glancing over there. Dylan had just gotten a strike, and I watched as his face lit up into a wide smile and his friends slapped him on the back and hollered. It was the first time I'd seen him come out of his shell and joke around in real life and not just on some grainy home video from the 90s on my computer.

"Liz, you're up," Sarah said, making me whip my head around quickly back toward my team. "I believe in you," she smiled.

"Great, thanks," I mumbled with a slight grin. "Get ready for a letdown."

"YEAH LIZ!" Sarah and Rachel yelled loudly for encouragement, as Jenny laughed and slumped down slightly in her seat when people looked over. 

I did a quick side-glance to my right. Dylan, Brooks, and the others were now looking over here. Fucking perfect, as if I didn't already have performance anxiety in front of this group, now I had a bigger audience.

"I have been known to let it go backwards. You have been warned," I announced casually to the three girls behind me.

I heard a chuckle from the lane next to ours, but I couldn't tell who it was. 

I swung my arm back and launched the bowling ball like I gave a fuck, watching it whip down the lane. My jaw dropped as all the pins collapsed. 

What? 

"What?" I murmured. My eyes were still wide. 

"Holy crap, wait to go, Liz!" Sarah bounced up behind me. 

That did not just happen. "I think I cheated or something because there's no way that I just did that," I said, still stunned.

"Sick pitch," A guy's voice called from next to our lane. I turned to see Zach laughing, and Devon beside him with a friendly grin.

I saw Dylan shyly look over at me, and upon recognition of who I was, offered a small half-smile and then turn his attention back to Nate whom he was talking to. 

"Thank you," I smiled back at Zach and Devon, giving a humble shrug. "As a Varsity Bowler, I don't often get recognized for my skill everywhere I go. It's a rough sport to be in for clout." 

Zach and Devon laughed again, and I noticed Brooks look over. I turned to Jenny.

"Say hi," I mouthed to her. Jenny shook her head. I rolled my eyes. 

"Hey, Liz," Brooks called, giving a nice wave. 

"What's up," I smiled back.

Brooks approached us, waving Zach and Devon over. "These are two of my good friends Zach and Devon. Sorry, they're both taken by each other."

I laughed and introduced myself. "Hey, I'm Liz, I'm new." I turned back to my group. "You know Rachel, Sarah, and Jenny?" 

Brooks nodded. "Yeah, I've seen them around. And Jen's in my second hour," he said, giving Jenny a polite smile.

Nate had joined us and gave me an impressed smile. "Killer arm you got there, by the way." 

"Yeah, that was 100% luck," I admitted, watching as Sarah bowled and knocked over most of the pins. "It's going to roll in the gutter for the rest of the night, so don't get too starstruck."

Dylan hung awkwardly in the background, not sure if he should come over or if he should continue pretending to study the scoreboard above his lane. 

"Hey, Dylan's got a pretty good arm, too," I said, trying to ease off the attention. "I just saw his last turn." 

"That's for sure," Nate nodded. "Dylan's the best. Won't admit it for shit, though. Modest guy, dontcha know," he said, looking over at the boy behind them. "You might just beat him in a match though. You up for it?" 

"Nah, like I said, that was in no way an accurate representation of my bowling skills," I said quickly, shaking my head. "Dylan would kill me easily." I paused for a minute. "I wouldn't have a shot." I thought again, a weak smile on my face. "He would gun down those pins. He'd massacre the..." I paused, trying to finish the pun but coming up empty. "No? Okay, never mind, I'm done."

Brooks gave me a weird look. "Why are you talking like that?" 

I laughed a little, hating myself indefinitely. "Oh, it's really clever if you knew," I said quietly. 

"Hey, Dylan," Nate called over to the blonde boy. Dylan looked caught off guard, like he wasn't expecting to be addressed. He walked over to us curiously. 

"What?" He asked, looking like he'd zoned out and forgotten where he was. 

"You think Liz could beat you in a round?" Nate asked, smirking at me. 

Dylan stared at me, his mouth slightly agape like he was about to answer, but I quickly cut him off. 

"Yes, yes he probably could." I rolled up one of my sleeves, and pointed to my thin upper arm, lacking muscle. "Plus, I have the upper arm strength of a coffee bean with arthritis." 

Dylan gave a soft smile, shyly looking at the floor. 

"You are calling Dylan strong?" Zach laughed, nudging the taller boy. 

"I mean, he could probably kick my ass," I said, looking up at his tall frame.

"Liz, it's your turn," Rachel called over to me.

I smiled nervously at the group. "Okay, please don't watch," I said, before picking up and bowling ball and rolling it down the lane. 

"Wow, Liz, you're on a freaking roll," Rachel cheered from beside me. 

I stared dumbly at the fallen pins. No fucking way. I looked back at the group. Zach and Devon were giving me a thumbs up. Brooks and Nate were exchanging amazed glances. Dylan just stared at me, expressionless and sort of thoughtful. 

Did time travel somehow give me bowling super powers? Because while that was cool, it was ultimately useless in times like these.

"Damn, Dylan," Brooks nudged Dylan's arm. "Looks like you've got some competition. Liz is a serious threat to your throne." 

Sarah gave me a high-five. "You can just bowl on my turn for the rest of the night," she teased.

"Yeah, what happened to 'bowling is the worst, I suck'?" Jenny laughed.

"I wanna see a Dylan vs Liz bowl-off," Nate yelled like it was the best idea ever. "I bet she's going to annihilate him," he smirked. 

I sighed, not wanting to put myself out there more than I needed to. Goddammit, Nate.


	12. 𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐮𝐩𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐩𝐬

The highly requested bowl-off, as Nate had put it, between Dylan and I didn't happen. I had backed out. Dylan, who was an actual pro at getting strikes, would definitely beat me, and it would have been a quick game, regardless of the few lucky bowls I'd made beforehand. And Dylan had rejected the challenge in the form of some half-muttered, hasty excuse that he wasn't competitive. 

The biggest moment of the night was when Brooks went and sat by Jenny toward the end, with a little nudge from me. I watched with a small, triumphant smile as they talked and laughed together. At some point while Brooks was busy ordering sodas, Jenny glanced over at me and smiled, mouthing a small "thank you." 

"Hey, my mom will call me if we don't get home soon," Rachel said as the bowling alley attendants announced that they would be closing in fifteen minutes. 

Sarah and Rachel spent the next couple minutes looking around for Rachel's car keys. Jenny was giddy and all-smiles as she and Brooks said goodbye, exchanging phones numbers and IM usernames. Dylan's friends waved, while Dylan gave an awkward half-smile that I thought was directed toward me, I wasn't sure. 

"Found them," Sarah announced, holding Rachel's keys up triumphantly. She tossed them to Rachel who was busy undoing her bowling shoes. 

As we walked out to the car, I heard my cell phone ring from my purse. At first, I was going to answer, but only after one ring it stopped, like the person hadn't meant to call me. And I couldn't see who it was to call them back, so I shrugged it off and slid into the back of Rachel's car with Jenny. 

"You and Brooks looked like you had fun," I nudged Jenny with a suggestive smile. 

"He's so cute," Jenny gushed, not even trying to deny her feelings for him this time. 

"He seemed okay," Sarah responded from the passenger seat. "But that's kind of a weird crowd he was with."

"What do you mean?" I asked, trying to work the angle of 'new girl doesn't know the pecking order of the school yet.' 

Sarah turned around in her seat to face me. "Don't get me wrong. They all seemed nice, but... they're just, you know...weird." 

"Sarah," Rachel said, her tone almost sounding like a warning for her friend to drop it. 

"Okay, maybe weird wasn't the right word," Sarah corrected herself. "That sounded a little mean. I think it's just because, I don't know, they're kind of the outsiders. Especially that tall blonde guy." 

"Rachel?" I turned to look at her for confirmation. 

Rachel shrugged. "Sarah knows more than I do. I don't really know Brooks or his group all that well." 

Jenny looked a little upset. "So, you guys don't want me to date him because of his friends?" 

Jenny got quiet for a few moments, and Sarah looked back at her in the rear-view mirror. "No, no one said that," she said. 

"Date whoever you want," Rachel encouraged. "You know, unless he's like a serial killer or something." 

I laughed a little too hard. Sarah and Jenny both stared at me curiously. No one else laughed. 

Well shit.

When we got to Rachel's, I followed the girls to Rachel's room and set my overnight stuff on the floor next to her desk. Thankfully, Mel had found a sleeping bag for me to use last minute. 

Jenny's phone rang, and she blushed when she answered. Everyone knew who it was. 

"Tell Brooks 'hi' for me," I winked.

Jenny threw a pillow in my direction. I muffled a laugh as she got up and walked into Rachel's bathroom shutting the door behind her so she could talk in private. 

"Ugh, I wish Brad would call me," Rachel sighed, flopping down on her blue comforter. 

"Okay, no," I grimaced, and then got another pillow thrown at me, this time from Rachel. "Should I just expect to be hit by flying linen for the rest of the night?" 

"I like Brad," Rachel said sheepishly. "He's sweet and smart and green-eyed and really cute." 

"Well, he does have green eyes, so I'll give you that," I admitted. 

"Look, I get that you might see him a little differently," Rachel said, rolling over on her back and staring up at the ceiling.

More like my criminal psychology teacher 18 years from now, but whatever.

"But he's been my crush since middle school," Rachel blushed a little and ducked her head as she smiled. "And I'm pretty sure this year will change everything for us." 

I nodded. "Again, probably very true," I said, cringing. "And if you like Brad, that's fine. You're right, it's a little weird for me, but we can move past that," I said honestly. 

"Thanks, Liz," Rachel smiled.

"Okay, so I have Travis," Sarah said, opening a bag of chips from Rachel's bookshelf. "And Rachel wants to jump on Brad, and Jenny and Brooks are on their way to becoming a thing." 

Rachel shot her a look. "I don't want to jump on Brad."

"So that just leaves you," Sarah continued bluntly, looking at me. "Who do you like?" 

"Please, my first day was Friday. I don't know enough people yet," I said, rolling my eyes and trying to brush it off. I knew a lot. But I couldn't say that.

"Come on, Liz. You were the one who wanted to talk about guys anyway," Rachel pleaded. "There has to be someone you think is cute." 

"Fine, your brother," I said.

"No," Rachel cringed. "Don't even joke."

"See? Now you know how it feels," I dug my hand into the bag of chips in Sarah's lap and shoved a handful in my mouth. "No but seriously, I don't like anyone." 

Lie. A total lie. I knew who I secretly sort of maybe liked. But there was no way in hell I was telling them that. 

"Okay, we'll let you off for now. But it's never too early to pick out prom dates," Sarah said, wiggling her eyebrows. 

I laughed incredulously. "Nah, I won't be attending prom." 

"Why?" Sarah and Rachel asked in unison. 

"Because prom just sucks," I muttered, throwing myself down on Rachel's bed. "I guess I'm just too awkward for those kinds of events," I said quietly. 

"You're not awkward at all," Rachel reassured. "And if it's the date to prom you're worried about, I can introduce you to some guys who'd love to go with you." 

"Thanks," I said, giving Rachel a genuine smile. "We'll see." 

Finally, Jenny appeared from the bathroom, all smiles and rosy-cheeked. 

"Well?" Sarah said, looking at her expectantly. 

Jenny's smile widened. "Don't include me in your plans next Friday night because I'm going on a date," she squealed. 

"With Brooks?" I asked dumbly. The three shot me a look. I held up a hand as I saw Sarah reach for a pillow. "I'll do it," I mumbled, smacking myself with a pillow. 

"Holy crap, we have to plan your outfit," Sarah said hurriedly.

Then I heard my phone ring. This time it rang for longer than one note, and I stepped out of the room to answer it. 

"Hello?" I asked timidly. 

The voice on the other end surprised me. 

"Hey, Liz? It's Nate." 

There was a muffled sound of cursing and protest in the background, as it sounded like Nate was struggling to hold the phone. "I've got someone here who wants to say 'hi' to you," he said, and I could hear the smile in his voice as he handed the phone to someone else.

I scrunched my eyebrows. This should be good.


	13. 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐲

I waited for the voice to speak. Holding my breath, I wondered which out of the group it could be. Had Eric joined them? Did he want to talk to me? Or was it Dylan? Were they forcing him to talk to me?

No, that last one didn't make sense. Dylan would be mortified to talk to a girl he hardly knew over the phone.

The rustling in the background stopped, and I heard someone fumble with the phone, followed by the sound of several people laughing in the background.

I stood there with the phone up to my ear for a few seconds before repeating "Hello?"

Finally, someone took the phone on the other side. "Hey, it's me, Nate, again. Sorry, nevermind," Nate said through some laughter. "Anyway, see you tomorrow."

"Wait, what—"

I was cut off when he hung up. I looked at the phone and sighed, a little disappointed. Now I was curious.

"Hey, Liz, come 'ere for a sec. We're picking out Jenny's outfit," Rachel called me into her room.

"For the date?" I asked, jumping onto the bed where the three sat. "Ooh, what we thinking so far? Show me options."

Jenny was a little flushed about the whole thing. "Guys, we don't have to make a big deal out of this."

Sarah raised her eyebrows. "Well, it's kind of important. It's your first real date."

Jenny blushed.

"Well am I wrong?"

"No, you're right. It is," Jenny mumbled sheepishly. "I just want everything to go perfectly. I really like Brooks. I don't want him to think I'm some loser."

I shook my head. "Dude, he already likes you for who you are. So, whatever you wear will be fine."

"Thanks," she smiled. "But do you think it'll be awkward at school tomorrow? Like when I see him in the hallway, or in class?"

Sarah shrugged. "Just don't make it awkward, and it won't be. Act normal. Tell him you're looking forward to your date."

I looked over at Rachel who was busy doodling in a notebook. "Hey, I've been meaning to say this earlier, but I wanted to thank you guys for being so nice and inviting me to hang."

They 'aww-ed' and replied with compliments back, happy I had said this.

"Well, you're pretty cool, yourself," Sarah said to me. "You know, without trying too hard."

I felt myself laugh a little. "Well, I try really hard to be cool."

As the night went on, we talked about a variety of subjects, as well as crimped our hair and cranked up Rachel's stereo, dancing like no one was watching. Somehow, we ended up crashing half on Rachel's bed, and half on the floor in a mess of blankets and pillows and empty soda cans, our sleeping bags forgotten near her bedroom door.

When her alarm clock went off, I felt like I'd been hit by a truck. Fuck. It was Monday. Why the fuck did we have a sleepover on a school night? Who's idea was that?

I heard Rachel reach over and groggily hit her alarm clock to turn it off. It collapsed off her nightstand and landed inches from my head.

"Are you okay?" She mumbled sleepily, looking off the side of her bed at me with half-open eyes. 

"No, not really," I murmured back. "I died. Does that mean I get a pass this semester?"

Jenny came strolled in through Rachel's door, already dressed and brushing her teeth. "Come on, I don't want to be late. Brooks always goes to his locker before first period. I can't miss him."

Jenny walked over to grab her backpack, nearly tripping over Sarah's sleeping body on the floor, wrapped up in all the blankets. And that explained why I was frozen all night.

I sat up and ran a hand over my face, dizzily feeling the pain in my head and neck from sleeping on a pillow awkwardly on the floor. I hadn't even changed into the pajamas I had brought last night, so I was still in my outfit from yesterday.

"What time is it?" Rachel asked tiredly, wiping the sleep from her eyes and stretched her arms above her.

I checked Rachel's clock. "Like 7:00," I mumbled, putting the alarm clock back on the nightstand and slouching back down to my cozy spot on the floor. I wrapped herself back in the blankets. "My eyes sting. I forgot to take out my contacts last night." My face then registered a look of realization. "Oh great. How am I supposed to get contact solution? I don't have my glasses with me."

"I brought some with me," Jenny said. "I wear contacts, too."

I sighed tiredly. "Thanks. We should probably wake up Rachel. We've already wasted like six minutes." I looked up to where Rachel was back to sleeping. I poked her nose playfully. "Come on, get up, it's school time," I sang.

Rachel flexed her arms and moved to stretch her legs out, her dark hair falling into her face. "I had the most whack dream last night. I was sinking in a field, like into the grass, and I couldn't claw my way out. It was terrifying, and now I feel so drained." She stood up and stumbled over to her alarm clock and checked the time. "Whoa, it's already 7:13. We need to get moving."

"Someone wake up Sarah," I said.

"Yeah, good luck with that," Rachel laughed. "She doesn't get up early ever. She's never on time to first hour. I'm surprised she hasn't gotten a detention by now."

"Every time we try to coordinate going out to breakfast in the morning before school, she never shows," Jenny added from behind the couch. "Anything before noon is too early for her."

Rachel sighed. "And guess which one of us also takes the longest time to get ready in the morning?" She asked, gesturing to Sarah's sleeping body, snuggled in the blankets in deep sleep.

"I'm going to change, just a head's up," I said, throwing on a baggy-oversized t-shirt with the words University of Denver printed on the front, and a pair of jeans. I pulled on the snow boots I wore from yesterday, and then came back out, finding Rachel in a sweater and struggling to pull on her corduroy's.

I sat down on her bed, lacing up my boots. "Sarah, wake up," I said soothingly to the sleeping girl below me. "Time for hell."

Sarah barely moved.

"I got her," Jenny said, flipping through Rachel's CD's. She put one in the CD player next to Sarah's ear and blasted an ABBA song on full volume.

Sarah sat up, her eyes wide and a terrified look on her face. "Bitch, what the hell . . . " she cried, placing a hand to her heart. We chuckled and continued to get dressed.

"I'm so tired," I whined, trying to re-braid my tangled hair from last night's French braids that Jenny put in. "And I need a shower."

"I think my brother's in it right now, otherwise you'd be more than welcome," Rachel said, gesturing to the hall bathroom.

Jenny's eyes were wide. "Guys, I forgot to bring my makeup. I'll scare everyone with my face."

Rachel gave her a funny look. "Your face is not scary. You are one of the prettiest people I know."

"Please," Jenny complained. "You're naturally pretty. Your face is perfect, and you don't need makeup. I do."

"Oh, you wanna see scary?" Rachel asked, trying to fix her slightly wavy hair in the mirror. "My hair hasn't been washed in two days. And I look like crap."

Sarah pulled on her jacket. "Yo, I forgot to study for my calc test," she said with a look of 'oh shit' realization. "I'm so screwed."

Rachel bent down to grab her shoes. "My body feels so stiff," she said quietly.

"Do some squats," I suggested.

"No, it's like my arms and shoulders area," she said, moving her respective limbs to circulate blood. "I'm like an old lady."

"I want pop tarts," Sarah groaned as her stomach rumbled.

Jenny nodded. "Same. And I want a smoothie."

"I feel ya," I agreed.

"Are we all ready?" Rachel asked, finally lacing her own snow boots.

"I am," Sarah and Jenny said together.

"I'm hungry," I added. "Is there like an IHOP or somewhere we can get a real breakfast? Like waffles and pancakes?"

"I don't think we have time," Rachel said, looking at her watch as we walked downstairs. "Can you survive until lunch? You can have whatever you want in my kitchen on our way out."

I grabbed a banana off her kitchen counter. She hugged her mom goodbye, and we followed her out to her car.

"Aren't we giving Craig a ride?" Jenny asked.

"Nah, his friend's picking him up," Rachel said, backing out of her driveway.

She switched on her radio, turning up the volume as I watched the girls jam out to The Sign by Ace of Base.

"Well, that's a throwback," I mumbled, staring out the window.

When we reached the school, I noticed a crowd of jocks in white baseball caps bunched up near the school's west entrance. Brad was among them.

I know they wanted to seem intimidating to anyone outside their social circle, but it was kind of hilarious. They looked like a fourth-grade clique that only accepted people with a certain juice box in their lunch.

I waved to Brad as we passed, hoping to embarrass him a little. He gave a half wave back, barely looking over. But when he saw Rachel next to me, he gave a double-take and looked a lot friendlier, flashing us a smile.

I shot him a knowing smirk as if to say, I fucking knew it, bitch. You have a hopeless crush Rachel.

Rachel waved back to him, which made Brad look borderline giddy. Sarah joined her boyfriend Travis's side and said she'd meet us for lunch later that day.

Brad waved Rachel over, and she squeezed my hand tightly. "Oh my...he's calling me over. Should I go? Holy crap."

I rolled my eyes and shoved her toward where he was standing. "Be cool," I joked. "See ya in first hour."

As Jenny and I walked inside, I could feel her anxiously looking around for Brooks. "There he is!" She practically strangled my neck as she got me to turn down the hall. "Okay, I'm just going to act normal. Pretend you just said something funny," she said as he approached us. She began to laugh and then stopped. "Shit, no, pretend I just said something funny."

"Jenny, Brooks is not worth having a stroke over. Just be yourself." I said right before he walked over.

"Hey, Liz, Jenny," he said, holding her gaze and smiling.

I smiled. "Hey, Brooks."

Jenny just stood there, frozen in shyness, a stupid smile on her face. I nudged her slightly.

"Wassup," she managed.

Brooks smirked. "Hey, so do you maybe wanna come with me to get some books from my locker? We have first period together and everything, so maybe you'd wanna walk...together or?" He asked her.

"Sure," Jenny said, her face flushing. "Liz, you wanna come with?"

I saw Brooks give me a hinting look, and I gave him a quick wink. "Oh, no that's okay. You two go, I've got locker stuff of my own to do. Catch ya later," I said, giving her a smile and walking off.

You're welcome, Brooks, I thought.

As I made my way through the crowded halls to my own locker, I found myself looking for Eric or Dylan. I wondered if their lockers were anywhere near mine. When I got to my locker though, I stopped and looked with confusion as some blonde girl in blue jeans was fumbling with my combination at my locker.

I decided to approach the situation with caution. What was she planting?

"Hey, um, can I help you with something?" I asked, and she turned around, startled. Whoa, she looked familiar.

"My stupid combo won't work. I've been at it for five minutes," she whined, looking dejected.

I nodded. "Hmm," I pretended to think. "Maybe we should try this one," I said, pointing to the locker next to mine.

She gave me a curious look, but she tried the combo on the adjacent locker, and it opened. She looked embarrassed. "Oh," she laughed a little. "That makes sense. I got confused. I don't usually use my locker."

I laughed. "No biggie," I smiled. "It happens. I'm new, but I'm sure it'll happen to me at some point."

She relaxed and nodded. "Yeah, I haven't seen you before. What's your name again?"

"I'm Liz," I said, getting a book from my locker.

"Cool," she smiled. "I'm Brandi."

I froze. That's why she looked familiar. From that video where Eric's in Columbine, and this girl talks about her friend eating a burrito. What was her last name?

She opened her locker, and I gaped at its contents. "Is that Ben Affleck?" I asked, looking at the pictures inside.

She beamed. "Hell yeah. Who else would it be?"

I nodded. "He's pretty cute," I responded.

Suddenly, a group of jocks walked by, but not the same group Brad and Travis were in.

Okay, just blend in and they can't hurt you, I thought. Wait, I was with Brandi. She was popular, right?

They walked by us, a few giving us a once-over, but not saying anything. They did, however, give some other kid hell, elbowing him as he walked right through their crowd.

"Get out of the way, freak," one jock yelled, and when the kid appeared, I saw it was Eric.

"That wasn't cool," I heard myself mutter. Brandi didn't seem to notice what happened. I watched as Eric put his head down and continued walking to class, not wearing a trench coat, but instead a regular winter jacket.

Brandi closed her locker. "I got to go to chemistry. If I'm late again, it's a detention," she said sadly. "I'll see you around, Lane," she smiled, waving, and heading off down the hall.

"It's Liz," I said, though she was already out of earshot.

In that moment, I decided to follow Eric, since I had a few minutes to get to class and he seemed to be walking in the same direction anyway.

I watched as he said hello to a few boys and then as he looked over at a group of popular girls around a locker. I felt bad, knowing they'd probably never give him the time of day.

He suddenly stopped, and turned around, looking right at me, as if he'd sensed I'd been there all along. I froze and it had become painfully obvious I was stalking him.

"Hi...sorry...okay...bye," I blurted out, turning on my heels and taking a different way to my first hour, hoping a black hole would swallow me up on my way.


	14. 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐚 𝐧𝐨𝐭-𝐬𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐬

For the rest of the day, I had a sinking feeling in my chest. It reminded me of when I had been spiraling months before I had woken up in the '90s, when I was back in my own time. Right when I had become interested in Columbine. Right when I was researching my paper for Psych class. When I was still Liz Dryden, born in the 90s, and a senior in present day high school.

I remember being on medication for a brief time. One week I decided to pull an Eric Harris and neglect the pills for a few days. I wonder if that made it worse. Probably did. There were times when I would cry for no reason other than my brain told to. My head would hurt, my stomach would ache, and my mind would spin.

And that day, while completing my last class, I felt the same wave of sadness and regret coming on.

Oh no, I thought. Not this again.

I didn't understand why I felt so bad, but then it finally dawned on me. What the fuck did I think I was doing here?

The universe shouldn't have chosen me. It wasn't right. I belonged in my own time, at my own school, with my own friends and family. I couldn't pretend to be someone I wasn't. And on top of all that, who was I to think I could make a difference here? What in the hell made me so special?

I'd replayed the fantasy of time traveling to stop tragic events, play the hero, save the world, but that's all it was. Just a fantasy. None of it logical.

The fact that I was here and able to change the outcome made me regret my wish. So far I was doing everything wrong. Here I was too concerned with winning Eric's trust. Seriously, what kind of plan was that? It was a whole new level of delusional.

In that moment, I decided to stick to one self-promise. I wouldn't confront Eric or Dylan about it. That wouldn't do anything. I had to take this up with someone of higher influence. Someone of authority who could step in and help.

I needed the police. The FBI. The CIA. Dr. Phil. Sylvia Browne. Oprah.

Whoever.

The thing was, I didn't have evidence. I had to show the bombs they were making, or get my hands on one of their journals, or video tapes, or essays, or websites. But how?

I needed access to Eric's room. I'd get his journal and a pipe bomb and sneak it out the door with me to the police station. Without looking suspicious myself.

I wasn't thinking of the consequences for either boy. I was too caught up in how guilty I was feeling. I had befriended Rachel already and had done nothing so far to ensure her life's safety. And for that, I wanted to throw myself off a cliff.

As the bell rang for the end of class, I scooted out of there so quickly I nearly trampled a straggling cheerleader.

I had to find Eric. I kind of remembered where his usual parking space was from pictures, but I was all turned around.

"Liz?"

I jumped halfway in the air as I heard him call my name from behind me. Eric had on his sunglasses, though the sky was overcast and there was a good amount of snow on the ground. I didn't even have energy to make a joke out of it. I was on high-alert. Nothing was funny anymore. Nothing.

"Hey, Eric," I said, my throat dry.

"I was going to tell you where to meet me when I saw you in the hallway this morning, but you walked away before I could. Everything okay?" He asked, giving me a raised eyebrow. "You were acting weird. Well, weirder than usual."

"Uh-huh," I nodded quickly. Then it was my turn to give him the confused look. "Wait, what? Meet you? For what?"

"You forgot," Eric chuckled, slinging his backpack over his shoulder, and unzipping a pocket, pulling out his car keys.

"Forgot what?" I asked, slightly panicked.

Eric sighed. "Saturday, when we had dinner with you guys. You said you wanted to hang out, and I said you could come with Dylan and I to go get some stuff." He paused. "Does any of this ring the smallest of bells?"

My eyes widened. Holy shit. I had totally forgotten. "Oh, yeah, that's right, I'm sorry," I ran my fingers through my hair. "I spaced."

Eric nodded and looked a little disappointed. "That's okay. Don't worry about it. Next time, huh?" He tried to smile and proceeded to move past me to his car.

I froze. "Eric, wait," I called, turning on my heels and watching as he unlocked his car door. He looked back at me, opening his door. Without a word more, I walked over to his car and opened the door to the backseat, throwing in my backpack. "We still have those plans, right?" I asked with a slight smile, widening it slightly as he seemed to beam at my words.

"Yeah, if you want," he shrugged, trying to play it off like he was indifferent. He closed the door to the backseat and walked around to get into the driver's seat. "I told V that I'd swing around and pick him up on the other side of the school. His car's been having issues, so I drove."

"V?" I questioned, already knowing who he was talking about, but I thought he'd find it suspicious if I didn't ask.

Eric smiled at me in the rear-view mirror. "Dylan. We call him Vodka, but V for short."

"Why Vodka?"

"It's kind of his signature drink," Eric explained, turning the wheel to back out of the parking lot. He braked abruptly as a car of jocks cut him off while he was trying to pull out. He honked his horn. "Fucking assholes. Can't drive for shit."

The jocks flipped him off as they drove by, and I heard Eric grumbling under his breath.

My palms sweat. His car smelled like one of those pine-scented air fresheners. The inside of the car was relatively clean, for the most part. There were only a handful of dirty pennies scattered in between under the driver's and the backseat. A half-gone water bottle rested in the front seat cup holder next to a random old receipt in the adjacent one. A box of Kleenex was lodged on the floor of the car, under the passenger alongside a small tube of Chapstick. This made me smile a little. Even Eric Harris worried about chapped lips.

"Oh no," I muttered aloud. "I forgot to tell Brad that I wasn't coming home." I draped myself along the backseats dramatically, my hand going to my head. "How will he cope with my absence?"

"Swimmingly," Eric responded, pulling up to the school's opposite entrance, waiting for Dylan to come out.

I dug out my phone and as if on cue, it rang. "Hello?" I answered.

"Yeah, where are you?" Brad asked, slight irritation in his voice.

"I'm . . . with friends. Hanging," I replied as I exchanged a look with Eric.

"Well, when were you going to tell me that, Liz?" Brad sighed, and I could hear him start his car in the background.

"Sorry. I forgot. I'll be home before dinner, okay?"

"Okay," He responded. "Later."

I hung up and sighed. "Sorry," I muttered.

Eric took off his sunglasses. "Don't be sorry," he said with a light smile. "It's all good. Been a crazy couple days for me, too."

"I feel ya," I nodded. I flinched when the passenger door handle clicked. It was Dylan, pulling at the handle, but the door was locked. Eric turned and unlocked it, and Dylan pulled it open, sliding inside and shivering, pushing the heat vents toward him.

"It's fucking cold, it's fucking cold, it's so fucking cold, this is a joke, fuck this town," Dylan sang, brushing snow off his duster, much to Eric's annoyance. "Dude, I almost slipped on a patch of ice walking down those stairs," he said, pointing to a nearby set of concrete steps. "You see all that ice? See that shit? That's a goddamn liability. I could've slipped and snapped my spine. And then I'd just lie there, and you'd wonder what happened to me, and I'd just be dead on the steps of this fascist institution."

Eric nodded absently, beginning to pull the car around a row of cars. "Yeah, to think that would've been your Senate steps moment. But this isn't the Ides of March, Julius. Calm down."

Dylan ran his hands through his hair, shaking out the water from the melted snow. "More like the escapades of January."

"Ice Capades, in your case," Eric said with a smirk.

Dylan grabbed the seat recliner and shot the seat back to make room for his legs. "You'd think they'd call of school for this kind of Siberian wasteland, but no. Fuck a snow day, just drive slow and pray you know how to ice skate to class."

He was talking so fast and furiously, I realized he had no idea I was back here.

"Everything good? How'd that talk with your teacher go?" Eric asked.

"Oh, that bitch wouldn't even let me retake the test. Yeah, I got a C, and she's all like 'sorry, I don't give retakes. I don't go to your bedroom to teach, so don't come to my classroom and sleep.'"

"That's a weird thing to say," Eric chuckled.

"Man, she's got in in for me, I swear, it's so unfair," Dylan grumbled. "Byron had her, too, and she's convinced we're the same person, so I won't be getting any gold stars in that class. She calls me Byron at least once a week."

I sat quietly and awkwardly, waiting for him to notice me. What if he tries to jump out once he sees me? Or he just shuts down because he's too uncomfortable? Like 'sorry Eric, but I don't want to be around this stranger, so peace.'

To my surprise, it didn't go down like that at all.

"Anyway, I'm trying to drink tonight if you are," Dylan continued rambling, still oblivious to my presence. "Well, regardless, I'm drinking tonight. I got a lot of things about today that I need to forget. Starting with derivatives and implicit differentiation."

Eric laughed, breaking as he allowed some freshman students to make their way down the crosswalk. "Fuck AP calculus, dude."

Dylan pulled down the overhead mirror to readjust his baseball cap. "Isaac Newton can straight up choke—"

His eyes met mine in the mirror and he froze. That man fucking froze like he'd seen an apparition of Jesus.

I waved my fingers at him shyly. "Hi," I said hesitantly. I sounded so scared of him.

He turned around, his eyes still alarmed-looking.

"Hey," he replied and gave me a small grin, his voice became noticeably softer.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," I smiled.

"No, it's fine," Dylan tried to laugh, catching his breath. "I thought I was astral projecting for a second, but I'm all good."

I nervously giggled watched as he started fumbling with the radio, landing on an oldies station.

Eric glared at him. "Okay, how about no," he said, switching it.

"Ooh, hey Reb, can we swing by and get—"

"Not happening."

Dylan gave Eric a look. "Come on, man. I know you don't like her that much, but after everything? I told her she could come over, and I'd help her with calc homework."

I was confused.

"Isn't she smart enough?" Eric asked. "She's like, what, number two in our whole class, right? Trust me, V, she doesn't need your help. She's trying to fuck."

Dylan's cheeks turned a bright shade of crimson, and he slumped a little. "I...okay, I'm not going anywhere near the comment."

"Well, I'm not picking her up," Eric protested. "She's annoying. And she's got a stupid obvious crush on you. Everyone knows it. I don't know why you have to be weird about it."

I watched Dylan's expression change in a montage of emotions. "Stop, that's not true at all, and you know it. We're just friends. Come on."

Eric looked over at him. "You are so smart, Dylan, but you're such an idiot. It's actually incredible."

"What?" I teased, leaning forward, and punching Dylan playfully. "Dylan has a secret admirer?"

Dylan shook his head, his face flushing even redder. "No, I do not, that is slander," he laughed, trying to cover up his embarrassment. "And Eric could you stop ripping on her? She's my friend, okay?"

"Who is it?" I asked.

Dylan said "Angela Lansbury," at the same time Eric said "Robyn Anderson."

I nodded slightly.

"Do you like Robyn, Dyl?" I asked.

Dylan was quiet for a moment, as if searching for the right words. "She's my close friend. A good friend. She's a close, good friend."

"Yeah, but do you like-like her?"

"She's a nice kid and all," Dylan finally replied, fumbling for the right words. "But I value our friendship too much for anything like that," he said.

I decided to accept that as it was. It was his subtle way of telling me to drop it please.

"If Robyn's pissed at me tomorrow, I'm having her redirect her torches and pitchforks toward you," Dylan mumbled to Eric.

As we pulled into a Kmart parking lot, I heard my cell phone ring again. I got out of the car as the other two did and answered the phone, expecting it to be Brad or even Rachel.

"Hey," I said into the phone.

"Liz?"

It was a girl's voice, but it wasn't Rachel's. Or Jenny's or Sarah's or even Brandi's or Ashley's.

"Yes, this is she," I said timidly, wondering who could possibly be calling me.

"Liz, it's me," the girl continued, her voice strained and urgent. "Vanessa."

I almost dropped the phone. I leaned against Eric's car, holding the phone tightly to my ear. "Vanessa?"

The girl from my criminal psychology class. The one who was working on the columbine research paper with me. That Vanessa?

Holy fuck.


	15. 𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠

As soon as we got inside the store, I excused myself from Eric and Dylan, all the while keeping Vanessa on the line. 

Once I left their earshot, I put the phone back up to my ear. "I... I don't know what to say," I managed to say into the phone, trying to find the restrooms at the back of the store. "How are you calling me?" 

Vanessa was quiet for a second. "I know where you are."

I pushed open the door to the women's restroom. Luckily, no one else was in there. "Do you know when I am?" 

"Walk outside and find out," Vanessa said.

Hesitantly, while keeping the phone in my hand and against my ear, I walked outside of the restroom and came face to face with the girl I'd worked on the paper with. 

She smiled, hanging up, holding out her arms. A wave of odd relief washed over me as I hurried over and threw my arms around her. It felt so comforting to see a familiar face. We just stood there for almost a full minute, holding onto each other tightly.

It was weird. We weren't best friends or anything. I mean, we barely spoke before the project. But she was here. And now I wasn't alone in...whatever this was.

As we walked inside the store, a million questions flooded my mind, making it impossible to form just one.

"How did you...When...I don't...You?" My voice trailed off. "This is some seriously trippy shit, man."

Vanessa shook her head. "Liz—" 

"Liz, we're checking out. Are you getting anything?" Eric called while walking over to me, Dylan slightly behind him, still browsing the shelves as he passed them. Empty shelves, mind you.

"Oh shit," Vanessa mumbled under her breath. She squeezed my hand. 

"No, I'm good," I managed. "Guys, this is Vanessa. We go way back," I said, smiling at her. 

Eric scanned her. Immediately, he stuck out his hand, which she took, shaking it politely. "I'm Eric," he said, giving her closed-lip smile. 

I bit my lip to keep from uncomfortably laughing. "Eric, man, come on," Dylan called from the side of an aisle. When he saw Vanessa, he blushed and ducked back around the corner.

"So, where do you go to school?" Eric asked Vanessa as we walked toward the check-out. 

"Wow, look at them," I said, nudging Dylan, who had his arms full of snacks. "Can I help you?"

I grabbed a nearby empty cart, and he gratefully put his items in it. I tried to push it, but he brushed me off politely. 

"I've got it, Liz," he smiled. "Thank you, though." 

"No, I wanna try something," I insisted, sneaking under his arms to grip the cart. Dylan eased back. "Watch," I said proudly, and then I put one foot underneath the cart and pushed off with my other foot, skating the cart down the aisle.

I turned around and saw Dylan's amused expression. "You wanna try?" I asked as he caught up. 

"I'd probably fall," he admitted. 

"I'll balance it out," I offered, standing on the opposite side of the cart. "Go ahead, do it." 

Dylan hesitantly put his combat boot on the bottom of the cart and pushed off. He struggled to keep his balance as we sailed down the rest of the aisle, Dylan laughing nervously. 

I climbed into the cart. "Alright, let's go," I said. 

"Um," he scratched the back of his neck. "I mean, I don't think..." 

I looked around for any employees and shrugged. "Trust me, we're good. You worry too much." 

Dylan shrugged and began to push the cart. 

"So, what's this?" I asked, picking up a small clock under a bag of trail mix. 

"It's a clock," Dylan said, trying to hide his smile. 

I rolled my eyes. "No, I mean what's it for? Strapping to pipe bombs?" 

The cart swerved and hit one of the shelves. I smiled. "Just messing with you." 

He laughed awkwardly. "Yeah, I know." 

"Seriously though," I continued. "Why the time-contraption?" 

"I'm going to throw it out a window later," He said in good humor.

I climbed out when I saw Vanessa playfully shoving Eric.

As we walked out with the bags, Eric asked Vanessa if she wanted to come over to Dylan's with us. Dylan had a subtle annoyed look on his face as if to say yeah that's cool, Eric, just invite random people to my house.

"Sure," she smiled, looking at me in a this-is-happening kind of way. "But I drove here, so I'll just follow you. Liz, you wanna ride with me?" 

I nodded eagerly. We had much to discuss.


	16. 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐥𝐲, 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬

I twisted the knob that controlled the radio's volume, dimming the song that seemed to be vibrating Vanessa's car. As she backed out of the Kmart parking space, I noticed the mess of clothes and books and bags covering her backseat. I struggled to pull a black duffel bag from the floor, placing the heavy thing on my lap and unzipping the material to peek inside. 

"Okay, what is this?" I asked, holding up a black trench coat. 

"I can explain," Vanessa laughed, following behind Eric's car as they pulled out of the parking lot.

"Please tell me the explanation is that you're being ironic, and this is not what it looks like," I frowned, noting that the coat didn't look brand new. "Are you kidding me with this?" 

"I don't know why you're freaking out," Vanessa widened her eyes and shrugged her shoulders defensively. "It's a coat, Liz. Okay? It's not a nuke." 

I rolled my eyes. "Yes, I'm aware it's a coat. But, I mean, come on, dude. What are you trying to prove? Do you want them to see you wearing this? I don't get it." 

"What are you trying to prove? Liz, I don't know why I'm here either." 

"So, I'm guessing you didn't go to school yesterday? I didn't see you," I said, rifling through the rest of the duffel bag. 

Vanessa shook her head.

"Why do you think we're here?" 

Vanessa was quiet. 

As my hand felt around the bottom of the bag, pushing aside what I assumed were schoolbooks, I felt something else. Curiously, I pulled it out. I heard Vanessa sigh, her eyes glued to the road, refusing to look at me. 

My jaw dropped as I realized what it was, my eyes glazing over the long sawed-off in disbelief. I dropped it into my lap, not wanting my fingerprints on it. On impulse, I wiped off the part that I had touched with her trench coat. 

"Oh fuck," I breathed, looking over at the expressionless girl beside me, still never meeting my gaze. "You're going to help them, aren't you?" 

Her silence only further confirmed my fears. 

"Vanessa, talk to me, man, there is a gun in my lap!" I yelled, waving my hands toward the weapon for emphasis. "Okay? Where did you get this?!" 

Vanessa opened her mouth, beginning to spit out an explanation. 

I cut her off, running a hand over my face in shock. "You know what? I probably don't want to know anyway. Just, please, get rid of it." 

Finally, she looked over, her expression softening. "Liz, you're overreacting. Just calm down. I have a plan that doesn't involve being an accessory to a mass murder." 

I crossed my arms. "Well, if your plan also involves 25 pipe bombs and a Tec-9, then I don't want any part of it." 

Vanessa gave a low chuckle. "You can't just call the shots here." 

"Is it loaded?" I asked, still in total flip-out mode. 

Vanessa bit her lip, stopping at a red light and turning to look at me. "I-" 

"Vanessa, I'm not joking, throw this thing away now, or I'll call the police." 

"Alright," Vanessa sounded aggravated. "I get it. Just zip it back up in the bag. I'll keep it there until tomorrow, and then I'll make it disappear. Are you cool with that?" 

I put it away, using her trench coat to touch it, and zipped up the bag, tossing it in the back. 

She must have noticed my unease because she reached over and squeezed my hand. "Hey, it's all going to work out. I promise." 

"This seems so surreal," I muttered. "Coming back to Columbine right before it happens." 

Vanessa nodded, giving me a glance as we followed Eric up the long and windy path to Dylan's house. She pulled up Dylan's driveway and parked. We watched through the windshield as Eric and Dylan got out, getting the Kmart bags from the trunk. 

"And remember," she said quietly. "There's two of them, and two of us. I don't know about you, but I like those odds." 

I gave her a small smile. "I'm just relieved to know you're not really a psycho killer." 

She nodded. "You should've seen the look on your face." She gestured to the boys as they shut the trunk and locked the car. "We just have to work on those two." She grinned over at me. "Why don't you work on Eric, and I'll help Dylan." 

"Pushing aside how simplistic you're making it..." I began with a weak laugh. "I think you should take Eric. He seems to have a major crush on you."

"What are you talking about?" Vanessa asked, raising an eyebrow in utter confusion. She stepped out of the car as I did the same, making sure the boys were both out of earshot so we could continue talking quietly. 

"At the store," I explained. "He was totally flirting with you." 

Vanessa barked out a laugh. "Eric was not flirting with me. The guy was trying to get me to spill details about you." 

Oh. 

"For real?" I asked, hating how excitement was obvious in my voice. This did not go unnoticed by Vanessa. "I mean, it's whatever, I don't care. That's weird." 

Vanessa shoved me. "He kept asking shit like, 'So what's her favorite movie? What kind of music does she like? Does Liz have a boyfriend?'" 

I whipped around and glared at her in disbelief. "He did not." 

"I swear," she said, laughing. "He legit asked me if you were dating anyone." 

"And what did you say?" 

She shrugged. "I was like, 'Oh, I don't know. You should ask her, but I don't think so.' And then he got all smug. It was kind of adorable." 

She gave me another arm punch. 

I snapped out it. "But that's not what we're here for. This is a mission, and unless your genius plan involves sleeping with murderers..." 

Vanessa pretended to look offended. "Whoa, you're the one who brought that up. Are you sure you're not the one who has this idea?" 

"Trust me, I've thought about it. But, in all honesty, that's too easy. There's no way that would work." I rationalized. "No, what we need is to-" 

"Let's just talk about this later. I don't want them to hear," Vanessa whispered as we walked up toward Dylan's front door where he and Eric were talking to each other. 

Eric looked over at us, grinning. "Finally. We thought you got lost." 

Dylan opened the door, holding it as Vanessa and I cautiously stepped in, the boys following behind us. I gaped at how big it seemed on the inside. 

"Do you want us to take our shoes off, or does it matter?" I asked, knowing how OCD my own parents back home were about that kind of thing. 

Dylan waved a hand. "Nah, it doesn't matter," he said softly. 

"Hey V, did your mom go grocery shopping?" Eric asked. 

"You know where the kitchen is," Dylan chuckled as Eric headed in that direction. "But don't touch the casserole in the fridge. That's for Thursday," Dylan called after him. 

"Okay, mom!" Eric's voice shouted from the kitchen.

"I'm serious," Dylan replied. Then he turned to us, smiling hospitably. "Would either of you like a snack? I'll make whatever." 

It then hit me that Dylan was not used to having female guests his own age at his house. Sure, his friends Robyn and Devon had been most likely been over, but that was different. 

"Sure," I said, giving a friendly smile to this nervous boy. 

"Do you have any Dr. Pepper?" Vanessa asked, giving me a devilish smirk going unnoticed by Dylan. She poked him in the chest. "I've been craving some since this morning." 

I shook my head at her. 

"Yeah," Dylan said. "Liz, you want anything?" He asked, avoiding eye contact. 

"Can I just check your fridge? I won't touch the casserole, I promise." 

"Sure," Dylan nodded, leading us into the kitchen where Eric had gotten into a box of Lucky Charms cereal. He got out a bottle of Dr. Pepper, poured it into a glass cup with ice, and handed it to Vanessa. 

"Ooh, can I have this?" I asked, pulling out some leftover pasta in a small Tupperware container. 

Dylan looked over and nodded. "Help yourself," he said and then handed me a plate. "You want me to warm that up?" 

"No, I like it cold," I said. "Where are your forks?" 

Eric leaned over the bar stool countertop and pointed to a drawer above the dishwasher next to where I was standing. 

"Thanks," I said, retrieving a fork and then sitting on the bar stool next to Eric. Vanessa sat next to me, and Dylan leaned against the counter even though there was an empty seat next to her. He looked like he was waiting for a formal invitation.

A low meow came from below my feet. I almost jumped out of my chair until I realized what it was. 

Dylan leaned down and scooped up a white cat in his arms. "You aren't allergic to cats, are you?" 

Vanessa nodded. "Severely." 

A look of horror suddenly flashed across Dylan's face as I gave Vanessa an incredulous look. Eric continued munching on his Lucky Charms with an uninterested expression. 

"Shit, I'm sorry," Dylan said at once, setting his cat down and shoeing it out of the kitchen. 

Vanessa giggled and shook her head. "Nah, I'm just fucking with you." 

Dylan looked uncomfortably to the side. 

Suddenly, I heard the front door open. We all looked toward the front hall, hearing a woman's voice as if she were on the phone. Her voice sounded familiar. I'd heard it on interviews before. 

Sue Klebold came around the corner, her ear pressed against a large cell phone. "Okay, I'll talk to you later," she said into the phone, setting her purse down on the glass table in the hall. "Bye-bye," she said, hanging up. She took off her coat and walked into the kitchen. 

Meanwhile, we had all been quiet, waiting to see what she would say upon seeing two unfamiliar girls with her son and his friend. 

The white cat had re-entered the room upon seeing her, nuzzling itself along her ankles, apparently hoping for food. She paused upon seeing the four of us at the counter, all staring back at her in silence. 

"Hi," I managed to squeak in a high, awkward voice that sounded so unsure and frightened, as if the boys had kidnapped me and forced me to eat pasta in her kitchen. 

"Hello," Mrs. Klebold said softly, looking from Vanessa and me to her son and Eric. She quickly molded her taken aback expression to something of a smile. 

Dylan cleared his throat. "Mom, this is Liz and Vanessa from....school." 

His mother nodded. "Well, I'm Dylan's mother, Sue," she said, smiling nicely, shaking both mine and Vanessa's hands. 

"I'm Eric," Eric said teasingly. 

"I know who you are," Mrs. Klebold replied with a teasing smile. "What are you kids up to, today?" 

"We were going to work on homework," Dylan said. 

Sue poured herself a glass of water. "Down here? I can make some hot chocolate, if you would be so interested," she said warmly. 

"I think we're going to work in my room. That way we can use the computer," Dylan replied as he and Eric politely brought Vanessa's empty glass and my plate to the dishwasher. 

His mother looked up at him. "Oh, okay," she said, slightly hesitant sounding. 

"Okay," Dylan replied, gesturing for us to follow him up. 

"Dyl," Sue called behind us. Dylan stopped abruptly, causing Eric to smash into him and so on down the line. She gave him a serious look. "The door stays open." 

Dylan's face turned a deep shade of crimson as he shifted uncomfortably on his feet. Eric looked like he was trying not to laugh, hiding his face toward the wall. Vanessa smirked, and I tried to give his mom reassuring look while not looking embarrassed. 

"Got it," Dylan managed to respond. 

"I'm serious," Sue said from the kitchen as we continued up the stairs. "I'm not doing this again."

I raised my eyebrows. Again?

As soon as we got up to his room though, Dylan closed the door.


	17. 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐮𝐛𝐭𝐥𝐞

"Dude, tell her you're not home." Eric had flung himself across his Dylan's bed, wrinkling the navy-blue flannel comforter and then smoothing out the creases in one, fluid motion. 

The conversation had turned to Robyn when she sent a message to Dylan over ICQ saying that she would be on her way over in an hour. As I had briefly overheard, Dylan promised he'd help her with calculus. And Eric was, for one reason or another, against the idea.

It made me wonder where Robyn fit into all of this. Had she already bought the guns? The timeline was running together like a fog in my head.

Dylan slumped into his desk swivel chair, facing the bed where Eric was playing with a baseball he'd found on Dylan's nightstand.

I threw my backpack down next to Dylan's bed and sat on the bed. Noticing my presence, Eric shifted into a sitting-up position so he wasn't so sprawled out, allowing me to move closer from the edge. 

"Dylan, your house is freezing," I said, shivering and rubbing my hands around my arms. "What the fuck, your window is open!" I yelled in a laugh, pointing to the window next to his desk. "It's two degrees out, you psycho. What are you doing?" 

Eric cracked a smile, setting Dylan's baseball back on the nightstand. "V's cold-blooded." 

Dylan shuffled over, almost tripping over a pile of laundry, to close the window. "I was trying to smoke out of it last night," he replied, pulling the window shut. 

"Can we light a fire with your laundry or something? I'm still so fucking cold," I complained, trying to make myself warm. 

Dylan sank back into his chair, only to fall onto Vanessa's lap. She had taken his spot while he wasn't looking. 

"Oh my god! Oh my god, I- I'm so sorry," Dylan apologized quickly, his face flushing as he pulled himself up lightning-fast. "Are you okay? I didn't know you were- are you sure you're okay?" 

The rest of us were laughing, as Dylan's blush deepened. Vanessa patted his arm, standing up as well. "I'm fine," she laughed. 

Eric snickered, and I tried to conceal the burst of giggles that was threatening to explode out of my mouth. Dylan's face was unreadable. 

"You can have your chair back," Vanessa smiled up at him. 

"That's alright. You can sit there," he said, suddenly very awkward, as if none of us knew each other. 

Eric shook his head, giving me a look that read Dylan doesn't take hints. 

I smiled back at him and shrugged. When Dylan reluctantly sat down, and Vanessa causally sank down onto his lap, Eric and I watched Dylan's eyes widen in panic. Obviously, he was not expecting this. He coughed slightly and tried to look anywhere else but our faces, but finally gave Eric a strained glare. Vanessa bit her lip and looked at the floor. 

I felt a little bad for Dylan. He didn't know how to react, nervously trying to shift his lanky body in the chair. Vanessa moved bit as well, wiggling her hips to get comfortable. I watched Dylan freeze as she did so, the color draining from his face. 

The look he gave Eric went from strained to scared. I crinkled my eyebrows in confusion.

Vanessa's eyes flickered to me in shock. 

I was still oblivious.

Clearing his throat, Dylan looked ready to shoot himself. Vanessa smirked and stood, noticing how discreetly yet quickly Dylan crossed his legs and set his calculus textbook on his lap, pretending to rifle through the pages. In that moment I understood what he had just experienced. 

Vanessa came over to the bed where Eric and I were sitting. "Scoot over," She said to me, shivering as well. 

Eric got off the bed so Vanessa could have room to lay down next to me, which I was a tiny bit disappointed about it. I moved over to where he'd been, smelling a tiny bit like Calvin Kline cologne and cigarette smoke. 

"Can we get under the blankets?" Vanessa asked, making him look up from his textbook that he was pretending to read upside down. "It's freezing." 

"Uh-um," Dylan looked toward the closed door warily, taking off his hat and running a hand through his hair, seemingly afraid, as if his mom had installed a 24-hour camera in is room. "Yeah, that's fine," he said finally, looking back at us. "Actually, well- no, yeah, that's cool, that's fine."

Vanessa pulled back his comforter and sheets, sliding in contently. "Your bed is comfy," she said, snuggling under the covers and closing her eyes. 

"Are you sure it's okay? I don't want your mom to freak out if she comes in here," I replied cautiously. 

Dylan nodded, but not confidently enough to ease my nerves. I did not want to see Mrs. Klebold's angry side. 

I slid under the sheets, warming up. His bed was soft and cozy, and I was tempted to take a quick nap right there. I looked over my shoulder. Vanessa's eyes were closed.

Eric noticed my eyes closing. "You going to fall asleep?" He asked in amusement. 

"No, sleep is for the weak," I said firmly with a teasing smile. "I'm just going to take a quick power nap. And then we can do homework," I promised, an overwhelming wave of exhaustion hitting me. Was it jet lag? Can you get jet lag from time travel?

Yawning, I closed my eyes.

I heard Eric laugh quietly as Dylan fired up his dial-up modem. 

Twenty minutes later, I woke up to hear Eric and Dylan talking. I kept my eyes closed and listened. 

They were talking about us in hushed whispers. I had to hold my breath so my heart would stop beating so loudly when the discussion moved to NBK. 

I was surprised how freely and easily they were willing to discuss "private" matters in the same room as Vanessa and I. Granted, they thought we were asleep, but one of us could have easily been pretending to sleep whilst listening. 

Which was exactly what I was doing. I made sure the covers were pulled up toward my eyes so they couldn't see that I was awake. Eric was doing most of the whispering, as Dylan seemed a bit more reluctant to talk with our supposed sleeping bodies a few feet away. I wasn't sure if Vanessa was awake or not, but I didn't want to risk moving around to check. 

"Not only did you get one girl in your room, you got two," Eric was saying through what I could tell was a wide grin. 

I heard Dylan's recognizable, low chuckle out of slight embarrassment. 

"Tell me you're not washing those sheets," Eric said. I cracked my eyes open and strained through the blurriness of my dried contacts to see him leaning against Dylan's desk while Dylan reclined in his chair.

Dylan's smile was only slight, more of a half-grin. He seemed bothered, preoccupied with something else. 

Eric continued in a low, meant-to-be whispered voice, "Come on, man. Wouldn't you rather have one of those two over what's her face? Robyn?" 

I noticed the glare Dylan shot him after Eric had spoken. "I told you already. Robyn and I are just friends. I help her with derivatives, integrals, limits, okay? Nothing romantic about that, man." 

A sardonic chuckle came from Eric. "Right. Doubt that's how she sees it," he muttered. 

Dylan was silent for a moment, and I felt both pairs of eyes on us. 

"I wouldn't have a chance anyway," Dylan finally said quietly, and my heart broke a little for him. 

Eric was more optimistic. "Dude, they're already in your bed. Your chances are more than fair." 

I peeked my eyes open a teensy bit again, noticing Eric looking at something on Dylan's desk. 

"Do you think she likes me?" Eric asked in less than a mumble. It was the quietest I'd heard him speak. 

Dylan gave Eric a genuine smile. "Liz?" 

Eric looked panicked at this and promptly shushed Dylan. 

"Now who's paranoid," Dylan muttered in amusement. Eric looked worried and slightly disheartened and hopeful all at the same time. I suddenly wanted to jump up and wrap my arms around him and tell him- 

What the fuck, Liz? Damn, I refrained from such an action and continued to listen breathlessly for Dylan's response. 

"I don't know, man," Dylan responded finally. "You've got a good shot with her, though." 

Eric smiled widely. "I think I might ask her out," he said, playing with his cellphone. "God, I'm hoping she says yes." 

Dylan gave him a sympathetic look. "She will." 

Eric looked at the floor. "I just want this one to last, you know. Just for once. I don't think I could handle it if she said no." 

"What do you mean couldn't handle it?" 

Eric gave Dylan a sullen look. "I don't know. I guess, that would just be the finishing piece to top off this shit life." 

Dylan paused. I watched him widen his blue eyes slightly. "Are you saying NBK's off if she says yes?" He sounded a little distant. 

Shaking his head, Eric continued, "That's not what I'm saying."

Dylan crinkled his eyebrows. "Then what are you saying? I'm not following." 

Eric's expression was still serious looking, but something flickered in his eyes. He shrugged. Dylan raised his eyebrows in confusion, still not getting it. To be honest, I was right there with Dylan, just as puzzled.

"Well, I mean, you were the one who was always talking about how cool it would be to do NBK with--" 

Dylan cut Eric off suddenly. "No," he said in a soft chuckle, catching onto what Eric was getting at. I was still befuddled. He noticed Eric's dead serious expression, and Dylan's smile faded. "No," he repeated, this time slightly worried. "No, man."

Eric held up his hands. "I think they'd do it." 

Dylan crossed his arms, still a bit alarmed and very much incredulous. "Eric, this isn't a movie. And I doubt--" 

I heard the doorbell ring downstairs and pretended the noise woke me up. I stretched my arms at the same time Vanessa sat up, rubbing her eyes, and running a hand through her messy hair. I didn't know how much she'd heard or if she'd heard anything at all.

Dylan looked out the window. "I think Robyn's here," he said quietly, before opening the door and hurrying down the stairs. 

I smiled at Eric. "What did we miss?" I asked. 

"Nothing," Eric smiled back. "Just dumb computer stuff."

I decided it would be best if Vanessa and I were out of the bed by the time Robyn got upstairs. 

When Dylan came back alone, we all gave him a curious look. "Wasn't her," Dylan explained. "My dad got locked out." 

Vanessa stood up and stretched, walking over to sit in Dylan's swivel chair again. Eric was leaning against the window, watching the snow fall outside as the sky grew darker. I walked over to him, noticing the neat, fresh blanket of snow covering Vanessa's car. 

"Dyl," Sue appeared in the open doorway. "How's the homework going?" 

"It's going," Dylan replied flatly. 

She was holding a dishtowel in her hands, and I noticed the delicious smells wafting from the downstairs kitchen. Sue glanced around the room.

"Would you girls like to stay for dinner?" She asked softly. "I'm making chili. You're more than welcome." 

Vanessa and I exchanged a look. "I don't want to intrude," I said, smiling at her. 

She waved a hand nonchalantly. "Oh, honey, don't be silly. You're not intruding at all. We would be happy to have you both," she said with a genuine smile. 

"Okay, sure, thanks," I grinned, Vanessa doing the same. 

Dylan flushed, but looked satisfied with the whole thing. Eric gave me a pleased smile which I took with a grain of salt. 

"Alright, well it's almost ready. You guys can come on down and grab a bowl," Sue said, seemingly oblivious to the wrinkled and disheveled sheets on her son's bed. She looked toward Eric and Dylan and then back to us. She smiled before turning back and heading down the hall. 

Dylan scratched the back of his neck. 

"Maybe you should straighten the sheets," Vanessa suggested, nudging Dylan, and looking at the bed. Dylan pursed his lips and nodded, attending to the task.

"I'm starving, so I'll be downstairs," I said, hearing my stomach growl. 

Eric was right behind me. His hand softly touched my back, guiding me out of Dylan's room. "I'm with ya on that," he grinned. 

I shivered at the touch. And I felt colder when his hand left my back. Behind us on the stairs, Vanessa was shoving Dylan slightly at something he said, laughing quietly. Dylan had clammed up again, clutching the railing for dear life. 

The doorbell rang again. Tom Klebold opened the door, finding Robyn in the doorway in a puffy blue winter coat. She exchanged hello's with Tom, her book bag slung across her shoulder. As Tom stepped aside to let her in, her eyes traveled from Eric to me to Dylan and then to Vanessa, her expression faltering. 

I felt the tension at once. This should be a fun evening. And by fun, I don't mean fun. By fun, I mean really fucking uncomfortable. The nauseous kind that made you want to disappear. An awkward evening. How perfectly on brand.


	18. 𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐜𝐤

At seven-thirty, Eric offered to give me a ride home. 

I didn't realize how tired I was until he opened the passenger door of his Honda Prelude and I sank into the seat, resting my head back in a daze. That nap in Dylan's room somehow gave me exhausted me. 

My stomach was warmly content with Mrs. Klebold's cooking. 

Sue did most of the interviewing while her husband sat back quietly, adding a few quips and questions every now and then. Vanessa and I were asked about our families, the colleges we were looking at, and other such things. Of course, our answers were complete bullshit. Vanessa managed to say a lot without really saying much. 

By the end of the meal, I'd felt winded from all the questions. Robyn talked a good deal, mainly inside jokes between her and Dylan, which seemed to annoy Eric. I could tell that Dylan's parents were fond of Robyn, and that she wasn't a stranger to their house. She knew where almost everything in the kitchen was as we helped clear the table. 

Robyn gathered up her books to take to Dylan's room. After Eric offered to drive me home, an invitation which I accepted a little too eagerly, Vanessa said she had to be heading out as well, grabbing her keys. Robyn chewed on her lip, subtly relieved.

I felt a twinge of understanding. It seemed that she indeed had some semblance of a crush on Dylan, and I knew how it felt when a boy you like displayed affections for someone else. Robyn was a sweet girl, with glossy blonde hair and an easy smile, and I was surprised that Dylan hadn't ever asked her out. But maybe she just wasn't the girl for him.

Politely, Dylan turned to Robyn and helped her with her textbooks. "After we study, want to rent a video?" he asked. 

Robyn looked up and smiled with a nod. "Yeah, sure!"

I was impressed with how well Dylan had noticed Robyn's sense of exclusion.

Once Eric started the car, I felt the sweet rush of warmth that wafted out of the small vents. He drove past Vanessa's car, still parked, and down the driveway. 

"You'll have to tell me directions," he teased, one hand on the steering wheel, the other fidgeting on the radio knob, searching for a station as we drew farther away from the Klebold's. Fiona Apple came muffling through the speakers. As Eric went to turn the knob once more, I rested my hand on his gently. 

"No, keep it," I said quietly. "I like this one." 

It didn't fit the mood. A quiet, dark drive through a cool suburban road delicately dusted with snow contrasted by alternative indie. But I couldn't help mumbling the words under my breath as Eric made no complaint nor showed any sign of annoyance at the song choice. 

Eric turned the volume down a bit. "Look at that sky," he said, looking intently through the windshield at the blackened skyline, gently dotted with distant stars and the glow of the moon, conflating together in darkness. "Know anything about stars?" He asked. 

I looked at the sky from my window, the glass cool against my touch. "A little," I admitted, peering up at the vast and limitless expanse. "You see Polaris?" 

Eric looked as though he was trying to see it while keeping his eyes on the empty road. "The North Star? I think so. Right there?" He pointed toward the dimly glistening dot. 

I nodded. "It's the celestial cynosure of the night sky."

He gave a half smile. "Check out the big brain on Liz." 

I gave a demure shrug, shaking my head. 

He took a left at a stop sign. My throat tightened. I didn't want to go home. Not yet.

Pulling down the darkened road, I watched the snow begin to fall again, adding more layers to the ground along the road. As we cruised toward the blackened trees lining a thick forest, we were suddenly off the main road, about fifteen minutes from Dylan's house. I switched off the music. "Park," I said before I could stop myself. 

Eric gave me funny stare but parked the car and switched off the engine. I zipped up my coat to the top, pulling on my mittens and hat from my backpack. "I wanna make a snow-angel," I replied to his look of confusion, giving him an innocent smile. He watched me in amused disbelief, letting out a sweet, boyish chuckle. 

"Are you coming?" I asked him, opening my door. 

He shook his head with a grin, exiting the car anyway to partake in the activity. I could see his breath dance in the chilly air as he said my name, watching me fall back into a soft layer of snow. I moved my arms and legs, creating a snow angel. He extended a gloved hand, helping me up, catching me when I fell forward into him, and then steadying me by my shoulders. 

"Make yours next to mine," I giggled, high on giddiness. Eric was bit reluctant to sink into the icy frost but fell back anyway from a playful shove by yours truly. "You have to move," I said through laughs as he just laid there despondently. His eyes were closed. It looked as though he'd fallen asleep. 

"Eric, come on," I teased, tilting my head, and looking sideways at him in the snow. Again, he remained still. 

I began to panic a little. Had he hit his head on a hidden rock under snow when I'd pushed him? Was he unconscious? Did I kill Eric Harris? 

"Eric?" My voice shook, as I moved closer to him, bending down to touch his face. Before my hand reached him, his own shot up and grabbed the front of my coat, his eyes springing open, pulling me down on top of him. I screamed, tripping over both of our limbs and landing on his body, feeling my own quickened heartbeat against his chest that was now heaving with laughter. 

I smacked his arm. "I'm glad you find yourself funny," I replied, rolling my eyes despite my smile. My hair trailed down against his cheeks and into the snow as I hovered above him, our noses barely touching. In the dim lights of the street behind us, I could see his pleased expression. 

I rolled off, lying beside him the snow, both of us having a clear view of the sky. We were silent for a few seconds, before a I heard a rustle in the snow next to me and felt my hand being engulfed in a larger one. I smiled and couldn't help but think he was smiling, too. 

I stole a teensy glance at him. He was looking straight up at the stars in a dream-like trance, a soft beam across his lips accented by a faint dimple on his left cheek. I thought about how cuddly he looked in his winter gear. His huntsman combat boots sticking out of the glistening snow, inches from my own boots. His blue jeans and black hooded winter jacket. His hair was tucked under a beanie ski cap, and I noticed how rosy his cheeks and nose had become from the cold. 

Squeezing my hand, he asked, "Hey, why did you give me your number that one time?" 

"Because," I said evenly. 

"Because why?" 

I had my mind full of unsaid things. "Because I think we're are a lot alike." 

Eric looked over at me. "Really?" 

"Yeah," I shrugged, moving closer to him on the ground so that our shoulders touched. 

"Can I tell you something?" Eric whispered. 

I giggled, wondering why he had to whisper when there was no one else around for miles it seemed. "Anything." 

Eric was quiet for a moment. "Never mind." 

I frowned, nudging him, urging him to speak. "No, tell me." 

"It's nothing." 

"Tell. Me." 

He gave an exasperated sigh and sat up suddenly. Confused, I followed suit. Eric looked at his gloved hands, and I put a hand on them. "Eric, what is it?" 

Finally, he spoke. "I haven't been able to stop thinking about you," he said in a quiet voice. He sounded faraway and distant, like a soldier who'd seen so much death that everything was numb. "Ever since that day." 

I felt my lips curl into a small smile, my heart quickening its beat. Even his delivery was like snow, beautiful but cold. 

"Nothing makes me happier," he continued, slowly loosing his nerve, "and nothing makes me sadder than you." 

I knew why he was holding back, nevertheless, my heart fluttered and soared. His fear of looking stupid was hindering his feelings. There was something longing and bittersweet in his voice. 

"I feel like I'm waiting for something that isn't going to happen," he said, avoiding eye contact with me. He was so afraid that my affections for him wouldn't match his own for me, and here I was, willing to hand over the universe to make him happy. "And maybe in the end I was meant to be alone after all, but you make me think otherwise." 

I knew I should say something. But I couldn't think of anything to say. He looked over at me softly, noting my silence and taking it as rejection. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I should leave you alone. I'm way out of my league here. I'm so...weird." 

I felt my heart break at his words. His sense of self-worthlessness pained me to the core. I looked at him in silence. He seemed deeply gutted from my reaction. 

I shook my head. "No, I'm sorry," I said, taking my hands in his. "Eric, I swear I need you. I don't want you to leave me alone." 

Eric looked at me incredulously.

I surprised him when I grabbed either sides of his face in my hands, looking into his intense gaze. "I like you, Eric. I really, really like you. And you're not weird. You're as unique as . . ." I paused, tilting his chin up to the twinkling stars in the cold, December sky above us. "The stars." 

Eric's smile of profound and utter happiness was indescribable. I thought he might start crying. 

He turned to me, his face inches from mine. "Liz, can I ask you something else?" 

"Go for it," I grinned. 

"What do you think about when look at the sky at night, when there's no clouds out and, you can see all the—" 

My lips collided into his before he could finish exactly when I knew he would say. He froze, unsure of what to do. Then he began to kiss me back.

It wasn't long, but it was magical in its brevity. 

"So . . ." Eric couldn't erase the dizzy smile on his face. "That was . . ." 

"Perfect." I responded. "Thank you." 

As we got back in the car, we were both in moonstruck states. He gave me another shy kiss before I walked up the front of the yard to the door. 

I felt happier that night than I ever had in a long time.


End file.
